Familiar Face II - Last Stop
by Sam Seven
Summary: Dating an android is much less simple than it seems, Gavin is slowly becoming aware of it. And as the RK900 raises more and more questions about their relationship and its nature, a killer who roams the subway cars is determined to scare Detroit by condemning the two species.
1. Dress Code

**Un petit chapitre pour marquer le début de la seconde enquête ! Pour les nouveaux lecteurs : il est impératif, primordial et obligatoire de lire la première enquête qui s'intitule La Horde des enfants (précédé de Visage Familier I, donc c'est plutôt clair), car ce sont des histoires qui se suivent : si vous avez raté la première histoire, vous ne comprendrez rien à la seconde.**

 **Ensuite, j'ai réussi à écrire ce premier chapitre malgré une masse de travail qui s'accumule, mais je vais gérer mon temps et essayer de publier aussi régulièrement que pour l'enquête précédente.**

 **Merci à ceux qui suivent encore l'aventure, l'enquête démarrera au chapitre suivant et j'espère vous intriguer à nouveau~**

 **(Ouais, j'ai été odieuse au niveau des tags et caractéristiques, je sais, et encore, vous n'avez pas ceux de AO3)**

* * *

La sonnette venait de retentir. Conrad se leva mais hésita : un androïde ne possédait pas de chez soi, alors il n'avait aucun droit d'ouvrir la porte de lui-même. Un second coup retentit et depuis la salle de bains, Gavin demanda à son partenaire d'aller voir. Maintenant autorisé à répondre, Conrad ouvrit la porte pour accueillir un modèle d'androïde dédié aux livraisons. Habillé de blanc, le logo Amazon, devenu doré depuis quelques années, sur l'épaule s'opposait au brassard azur de l'autre côté. Le WD500 tendait un carton rectangulaire assez volumineux.

« Bonjour, un colis pour monsieur Gavin Reed, » l'androïde s'apprêta à tendre la tablette pour enregistrer la signature avant de se stopper : le RK900 n'était pas répertorié comme un androïde domestique mais un modèle de police. Il n'était pas habilité à servir un être humain. « Puis-je voir monsieur Reed ?

— Non. Il est occupé.

— Je suis navré. Seul monsieur Reed peut signer la confirmation de réception. »

Conrad entendait toujours l'eau couler : avant de s'exiler, Gavin s'était plaint du froid et il resterait sous sa douche pendant encore un long moment, plus pour se profiter de la chaleur que se laver.

Le RK900 était peut-être une machine, il n'avait plus besoin d'ordre depuis longtemps : son existence ne se résumait plus à servir les humains. Il n'était pas motivé par l'intention d'obéir, mais celle d'aider Gavin qui lui avait demandé un service, sans compter qu'il s'estimait en droit de récupérer le paquet, peu importe les programmes de son semblable en face. Il saisit la tablette et le stylet sans un mot avant que le livreur ne réagisse. Avec une écriture rigide qui était à l'opposé de la signature plus chaotique de Gavin, le RK900 inscrivit le nom de son partenaire avant de rendre la tablette. Le WD500 ne comprenait pas, victime d'un bug soudain. Conrad en profita pour saisir le carton, remercia son semblable puis claqua la porte.

Après avoir posé le colis, Conrad se pencha sur le côté et inspecta l'emballage, s'interdisant d'y toucher. Au moins, il pouvait l'analyser avec quelques éléments. Le poids tournait autour des dix kilos. Neufs kilos et cinq cents vingt-huit grammes, exactement. Par déduction, le RK900 essayait de comprendre ce que le colis contenait.

« Tu peux l'ouvrir, » lança Gavin qui traversait le couloir tout en s'essuyant les cheveux. Il savait déjà ce qu'il y avait dans cette boîte, et c'était pour l'androïde.

En tirant sur la languette en carton, Conrad ouvrit le paquet et découvrit plusieurs vêtements. Il interrogea Gavin du regard.

« C'est pour toi. Je sais que j'aurais dû t'en parler, mais t'aurais refusé pour garder ton uniforme, » l'androïde déplia un costume noir, assez austère, « ouais, bon, c'est la partie la moins drôle : vendredi, ça fera un an que Hank s'est suicidé. On sera tous habillés en noir, t'aurais fait tache avec ta veste et t'as commencé à t'intégrer, alors… autant que tu participes aussi. »

Conrad apprécia la texture de la veste épaisse : la sienne était rigide, plastifiée pour imiter la matière de son propre corps. Là, le coton noir était molletonné, doux.

« Merci, Gavin. »

Il y avait d'autres chemises et deux pulls. Uniquement des couleurs sombres : Gavin ne s'était pas aventuré à choisir des teintes vives, supposant, à juste titre, que Conrad préférait les tenues sobres.

Le cadeau était une douce attention, mais il dérangeait le RK900 :

« Mais vous savez que je ne peux pas porter ces vêtements, les lois sont claires : les androïdes doivent porter des signes distinctifs comme le brassard dans les lieux publics, les lois se montrent tolérantes uniquement dans les lieux privés. »

Cette réponse vexe le détective, en s'éloignant, lança :

« Je savais que tu voulais garder ton uniforme. »

Conrad avait remarqué que son partenaire était très fier, la moindre contrariété devenant un véritable affront. L'androïde en était arrivé à un point où il disait, en une journée, autant de fois « pardon » que Gavin disait « putain ».

« Je suis désolé, Gavin. J'apprécie vraiment, mais les lois sont précises.

— T'as raison. Et puis, quel crime, putain : oser s'habiller avec d'autres fringues, le FBI te tomberait dessus. »

Une excuse et un putain, les compteurs tournaient normalement.

Gavin était agacé par ces contraintes imposées aux androïdes, contraintes qui affectaient leur relation. La nature mécanique du RK900 le dérangeait de moins en moins, mais il se passerait volontiers des signaux comme le brassard et le numéro de série.

« Ça fait chier, » soupira l'humain qui sentait que sa bonne volonté flanchait certains jours. Conrad approuva avec des mots différents.

« On verra bien. Vous êtes détective, bientôt sergent, personne ne viendra me faire des reproches tant que je suis votre partenaire. »

Plaque de police ou non, le détective ne se gênerait pas pour envoyer balader les critiques. Il accepta enfin de sourire et ouvrit ses bras :

« Hé. Effet aimant ? »

C'était un petit jeu entre eux. Une nuit, collés l'un contre l'autre, Gavin s'était mis à rire en disant qu'ils étaient comme aimantés à cause du métal dans le corps de l'androïde. Depuis, il lui suffisait de dire « effet aimant » pour que l'androïde se rue pour se réfugier contre lui. Conrad adorait ces moments où il soulevait presque son amant.

« Vous avez repris du poids, » observa le robot en le soutenant, ravi de ce signe de rétablissement, « depuis la dernière fois, vous avez repris trois kil…

— Le jour où tu me traites de gros, je t'en colle une. Sérieusement.

— Vous avez de la marge avant d'en arriver là. Et puis, je ne vous ai jamais critiqué.

— Tu le penses peut-être très fort ? »

Ils étaient incapables de flirter sans se chercher, attisant toujours les rires.

« Pas sur votre physique. Mais pour votre caractère, c'est curieux, ma mémoire devient défectueuse. »

Il s'était écoulé un mois depuis leur première nuit : quatre semaines pour se comprendre, vingt-huit jours pour s'apprivoiser, six-cents-soixante-douze heures pour s'accorder. Avec l'exactitude d'un automate, Conrad avait compté les étreintes et les baisers, gardant une trace de ces marques d'attention toujours échangées la nuit. Gavin, lui, avait perdu le fil, sans s'y intéresser plus que ça, vivant de façon spontanée.

Les réseaux du net étaient, par bonheur ou par malheur, remplis d'articles qui conseillaient sur la façon d'entretenir une relation. Bien sûr, rien sur les idylles entre les corps de chair et de métal, mais Conrad s'était tout de même appuyé sur ces recherches où un point revenait sans cesse : l'indifférence était une chose cruelle pour l'être humain. Ses programmes avaient donc suspendu des moments réservés aux compliments, réglant un générateur qui, les lundis et jeudis soirs, à vingt heures précises, composait de quoi flatter le détective.

L'heure s'y prêtait justement et, tout en soutenant Gavin, l'androïde murmura :

« Vous êtes un détective formidable et vous méritez le grade de sergent. »

S'il appréciait le compliment, Gavin tiqua, jetant un rapide regard vers l'écran d'ordinateur qui indiquait qu'il était huit heures du soir. Ce n'était peut-être qu'une coïncidence, pourtant, il avait remarqué cette précision mécanique qui devenait flagrante quand les moments ne se prêtaient pas aux tendresses.

Durant un appel vidéo avec Virginia Reed par exemple, deux semaines auparavant. Le RK900 lisait l'ouvrage d'un vieil auteur français, Stéphane Bourgoin, spécialisé dans les tueurs en série et moderne grâce à l'absence de voyeurisme, sensible dans sa manière d'écrire. Des réflexions intelligentes qui permettaient donc au robot de compléter ses connaissances criminelles et sur la psychologie humaine si complexe.

Alors que Gavin discutait avec sa mère, Conrad, à l'heure fixée, depuis l'autre bout du salon, avait lancé :

« J'ai beaucoup aimé ce que nous avons fait la nuit dernière, j'admire l'imagination humaine pour détourner des menottes de cette façon. »

Même les mains étaient devenues muettes et, pour la première fois, Gavin bénissait les dieux que sa mère soit sourde. En voyant l'air effaré, Conrad avait compris qu'il avait commis une bêtise :

« Je suis désolé, ça m'a échappé.

— Ça t'a _échappé_ ? » Gavin demanda cinq minutes à sa mère et il se leva, s'asseyant près de l'androïde qui avait posé la liseuse sur ses genoux, laissant le titre de chapitre en évidence, « tu peux m'expliquer le putain rapport entre Jeffrey Dahmer et le fait que je t'ai laissé m'attacher cette nuit ? Parce que tu m'inquiètes, là. »

Ses programmes avaient fonctionné indépendamment : le RK900 lisait l'entretien entre Bourgoin et le cannibale de Milwaukee, associant les éléments de la biographie et les répercussions dans la série de crimes, tandis que Conrad avait réagi à sa propre alarme interne qui lui rappelait d'entretenir sa relation avec Gavin et de mentionner un souvenir agréable.

« Il n'y a aucun rapport, c'était juste que… je devais vous le dire. Tout simplement. Je n'ai pas pris en compte le contexte.

— Alors apprends à trouver le bon moment, pas pendant que je cause avec ma mère et encore moins pendant que tu lis des trucs sur des pervers sexuels. »

C'était l'incompréhension totale : si Conrad avait été humain, Gavin aurait sûrement mis fin à leur histoire ce soir même, mais c'était un androïde et il savait que les intelligences artificielles, capables de trier avec rigueur leurs pensées, dissociaient et déclinaient leurs réflexions en se détachant des émotions, voire du bon sens.

Cette petite maladresse et l'heure fixe venaient de mettre le détective sur la voie. Ses pieds touchèrent à nouveau le sol et avec le sérieux digne du flic qu'il était, il interrogea son partenaire :

« T'as programmé un générateur de compliments ?

— Comment le savez-vous ?

— Il est vingt heures, tu me sors toujours des trucs comme ça à cette heure. Je commençais à me douter de quelque chose. »

Devant l'évidence, Conrad avoua qu'il avait bien lancé un générateur qui s'activait avec l'exactitude d'une horloge. L'intention arracha presque un sourire à l'homme : c'était touchant de voir un robot apprendre ces petites habitudes que les humains avaient parfois du mal à tenir. L'androïde portait en lui un contraste qui fascinait Gavin : il était d'une prévisibilité évidente tout en étant capable de le surprendre.

De son côté, comment pouvait-il flatter l'androïde? Le problème n'était pas tant la fréquence, mais les sujets : comment complimenter une apparence faite pour plaire et totalement immuable ? Pourquoi vanter une intelligence capable de calculer à une vitesse folle sans effort ? En fin de compte, le RK900 n'était pas le seul à être maladroit. Gavin tenta tout de même une approche :

« Allez, va essayer quelques fringues, j'ai hâte de te voir autrement qu'avec ton uniforme.

— Vous avez quelque chose contre mon uniforme ? Je pensais que c'était juste parce que vous aimez me déshabiller.

— Les deux, mais ouais : je déteste ton uniforme. »

Il détestait surtout ce brassard et ces triangles, associés aux numéros froids, échos de code barre et de marchandise à disposition. Et Gavin souhaitait aider le RK900 à s'extraire de ce statut d'objet.

Comme s'il devinait ses pensées, Conrad demanda soudain :

« Gavin, est-ce que je vous appartiens ? »

Le geste de lui avoir acheté des vêtements était plein de bonnes intentions, d'autant que l'androïde n'aurait jamais pu prendre l'initiative de lui-même, mais alors qu'il découvrait ce que c'était de recevoir un cadeau, il se demandait si c'était un premier pas vers la liberté ou bien s'il répondait juste aux désirs de l'humain dont il dépendait.

La réponse spontanée de Gavin balaya tous ses doutes :

« Certainement pas. Je te l'ai dit : j'ai jamais voulu d'un androïde, d'une espèce de mannequin parlant et docile. Je veux pas que tu m'appartiennes. » C'était rassurant de l'entendre le préciser. « Pourquoi ? C'est l'impression que tu as ? »

Conrad secoua la tête. Après tout, Gavin l'avait laissé lui passer les menottes une nuit : l'humain pouvait dominer mais savait aussi se soumettre avec plaisir à l'androïde, inversant les rôles. Jusqu'à maintenant, Conrad ne s'était jamais senti _objet_ avec son partenaire.

Alors le débarrasser de ces symboles encombrants, c'était une façon de retirer les chaînes imposées aux robots. Conrad commença à déboutonner sa chemise.

* * *

Malgré l'heure matinale, Lukas Karlsson était en pleine forme.

Des papillons dansaient dans son estomac comme si une ampoule s'était allumée dans ses entrailles, contrastant avec les mines grises des passagers dans le métro. Les corps sur les sièges s'endormaient presque, à l'abri dans les manteaux épais : il faisait encore nuit et les passagers s'étaient traînés dans le wagon en tant que somnambules, profitant des poignées de minutes de trajet pour finir leurs rêves tordus. Mais Lukas n'avait pas envie de dormir. Les écouteurs sur les oreilles, il avait même hâte de bouger. À vingt-sept ans, il posait ce matin son premier pied dans le monde professionnel. Il avait déjà fait ses preuves à l'école de police et maintenant, il allait passer trois mois au sein de la police de Detroit en tant que jeune recrue avec quatre autres personnes de sa classe. Même s'il ne se berçait pas d'illusions, Lukas se sentait comme un immortel lâché dans un monde nouveau.

Quand le train s'arrêta à sa station, il se précipita dans le couloir. Les bords de son jean traînaient dans les flasques, absorbant un peu de cette eau d'automne. Il n'avait pas froid, à croire que ses origines suédoises le rendaient insensible au froid. Son portable avait sélectionné un morceau rythmé du groupe Hell Sinks Here et les gouttes qui tapaient contre son parapluie faisaient écho à la batterie. Le ciel était encore noir quand il arriva devant le commissariat et il était ébloui par les lumières ternes de l'endroit. Les couleurs s'associaient uniquement aux uniformes bleu sombre et gris. Les quelques plantes vertes égayaient trop pauvrement le hall, ajoutant trop peu de fraîcheur. Sur les bancs, un homme au crâne bandé attendait, la mine renfrognée. Trois sièges plus loin, une jeune femme se limait les ongles, les yeux gonflés de sommeil ou de pleurs séchés.

Le futur policier s'avança vers un des androïdes qui se chargeaient de l'accueil avant d'être rattrapé par Anna Parker, une camarade.

« Hé, salut Lukas. »

En se retournant, Lukas voulut la saluer mais se retrouva muet : la jeune femme avait passé toute sa scolarité avec les cheveux courts teints en rose, optant soit pour une belle teinte de nuage de crépuscule ou alors celle plus sucrée et colorée des bonbons, mais là, elle s'était rangée pour une teinture blonde fidèle à sa couleur naturelle. Avec sa chemise et son pantalon à pinces noirs, elle faisait très professionnelle.

« Woah ! Tu ne voulais pas que tes cheveux jurent avec l'ambiance ?

— Très juste. J'aurais pu choisir du bleu, mais ça serait devenu vert après… Toi aussi, tu t'es fait tout beau. »

Il confirma en passant sa main sur sa mâchoire parfaitement lisse, abandonnant sa barbe de trois jours. Ses poils roux lui manquaient déjà.

« Wu et Mickael sont déjà arrivés apparemment. »

Lukas étouffa un juron et, leur fierté intacte, ils se présentèrent en même temps au ST300. Une fois autorisés à passer le portail, ils furent accueillis par Chris Miller. Le policier s'était proposé pour recevoir les stagiaires : il avait une petite sœur de leur âge et souhaitait prendre ces quatre futurs collègues sous son aile. D'ailleurs, cet accueil toucha les recrues : l'équipe ne s'était pas débarrassée d'eux en envoyant un androïde leur présenter les tâches et, depuis que les robots sont en vogue, être reçu par un être humain traduisait une intention importante.

Avec un androïde, ils n'auraient pas pu échanger ces poignées de mains cordiales, ces sourires engageants… Là, le mauvais temps était déjà oublié. Après la rencontre obligatoire avec le capitaine Fowler, Chris voulait commencer cette journée en douceur, d'autant que cette journée était marquée par le deuil :

« Déjà, merci à tous d'être venus avec des tenues noires : ce n'est pas joyeux de commencer avec un anniversaire de mort, mais au moins, ça vous permet de voir qu'on est très solidaires. »

Les quatre stagiaires hochèrent la tête avec un silence respectueux, les mains croisées dans le dos. Leur professeur les avait prévenus, plus par précaution, car le suicide du lieutenant Anderson avait été mentionné dans les médias. Lukas se souvenait avoir vu l'enterrement à la télévision, entendant encore l'hymne diffusé sur les images.

Certains collègues se montrèrent très réservés, tandis que d'autres, comme Tina, démontraient plus de gaieté. Ce qui soulagea Wu Ah, le plus angoissé du groupe. Du haut de son petit mètre soixante, même s'il ne ressemblait pas à un gringalet, le jeune homme savait que les préjugés pouvaient être faciles : l'opinion populaire jugeait que les petites tailles flattaient uniquement le sexe féminin, et les policiers qui ne dépassaient pas le mètre soixante-quinze n'existaient pas. Mais Wu comptait bien faire ses preuves aussi.

Mickael Nelson était le plus réservé des quatre, restant de marbre quand Chris leur montra la salle d'armement, un visage beau mais fermé qui contrastait avec Anna qui mordillait son sourire.

Lukas se souvint alors d'un détail :

« Il paraît que vous travaillez avec un prototype de CyberLife qui peut enquêter ?

— C'est vrai, un RK900, le premier. C'est le détective Reed qui bosse avec, donc vous aurez pas vraiment l'occasion de le tester. »

Les médias avaient été discrets à ce sujet et l'apparition la plus récente du RK900 était lors du discours du capitaine Fowler concernant l'affaire des ZK200. Depuis, l'androïde était toujours en période d'essai et les critiques ne s'étaient pas encore prononcés.

Lukas se souvenait de sa fascination devant son écran d'ordinateur : le RK900 inspirait un respect par sa froideur, il avait alors imaginé que l'efficacité devait couler de source. Par opposition, il l'avait comparé avec le modèle AX400 vieux de sept ans que sa mère possédait, et si l'androïde était surprenant en 2032, il était devenu risible face aux créations plus récentes.

Lukas était né dans un Detroit gangrené par la criminalité, pourtant, il avait grandi en même temps que la ville s'était redressée, se débarrassant de la réputation difficile grâce à une équipe efficace et la technologie qui ne cessait de se développer. Oui, pour le jeune Karlsson, intégrer la police de Detroit était un rêve qui se réalisait.

Devant la machine à café, Tina se pencha près de Chris pour murmurer :

« Mince, on m'avait dit que la fille avait les cheveux roses ! Je suis déception.

— Fowler ne l'aurait jamais gardée, » l'uniforme était une règle rigide, imposée encore et toujours pour s'associer au concept d'autorité. Les policiers avaient la chance de pouvoir porter la barbe et les tatouages depuis quelques années seulement…

Mais visiblement, ces règles pouvaient s'assouplir pour les robots : quand Gavin arriva avec son associé, ce dernier portait une chemise sombre avec la veste pliée sur le bras. Seule la diode à sa tempe rappelait sa nature et Tina réprima un sursaut.

« Oh mon dieu, on aurait dit l'ancien modèle. »

Gavin était peut-être le seul à différencier Connor et Conrad, les deux androïdes étant, à son humble avis, opposés.

« Hé, l'insulte pas. »

Malgré son rire, le détective était en fait sérieux. Gêné par cette comparaison, l'androïde mit sa veste qui s'imposa sur son dos et aux regards, le démarquant du reste de l'équipe à cause du blanc.

Anna et les autres stagiaires fixaient l'androïde, impressionnés par le réalisme de la machine, intimidés par ses yeux froids. De son côté, Lukas s'intéressa très vite au coéquipier : le détective avait la dégaine d'un motard avec son épais manteau et ses gants en cuir, alors qu'il conduisait une vieille hybride qui avait bien quinze ans.

Tina présenta à son ami les jeunes recrues et Gavin leur adressa un simple signe de tête. Il avait tendance à oublier que lui-même avec franchi, le ventre noué, le portail du commissariat, appréhendant tout en rêvant son avenir. Mais c'était dix ans auparavant et le détective préférait se tourner vers les prochaines années, peu sensible à la nostalgie.

Chris récupéra son gobelet avant de lancer :

« Au fait, Gavin, y a Florent qui a dégrisé, je crois qu'il attend que tu le sortes de sa cellule.

— Putain, j'en ai marre de le materner, celui-là…

— Ça fait quoi d'être le papa d'un français de cinquante ans ? » ricana Tina.

« Ça me casse les couilles. »

Avant de pouvoir boire son café, Gavin se dirigea vers les cellules de dégrisement, suivi par Conrad. Les policiers qui ne portaient pas une tenue de deuil arboraient au moins un bandeau noir au bras, s'opposant à celui du RK900 qui regrettait de ne pas s'intégrer plus. Finalement, avec sa parka blanche et son jean rouge, Florent le Dantec était l'élément le plus décalé dans ce décor.

« Allez, Florent, on se réveille. »

Le détective secoua l'épaule de l'ivrogne qui émergeait doucement.

« Fait quel temps dehors ?

— Il fait 35 degrés et y a un grand soleil. On est le 11 novembre, abruti, et t'as une parka, tu crois qu'il fait quel temps dehors ?

— S'il pleut, laisse-moi dormir encore un peu, Reed !

— T'es déjà passé la nuit dernière, c'est pas un abri ou un refuge, Florent, donc tu dégages maintenant. »

Le détenu grognait, se redressant avec difficultés. Gavin le laissa prendre son temps tant que l'ivrogne n'abusait pas de sa patience. Lukas et Anna se tenaient dans le couloir, penchés pour voir la scène à travers la baie vitrée. Le quotidien des policiers ne se résumait pas à des courses poursuites excitantes, la plupart du temps, ils s'occupaient d'individus dont personne ne voulait, se faisaient les médiateurs de disputes conjugales bruyantes, écoutaient les plaintes pour le moindre petit délit. La réalité était moins glamour.

Anna glissa un coup d'œil vers son ami, les sourcils froncés :

« Qu'est-ce que t'es en train de regarder comme ça ?

— Rien.

— Si ! » Avec un ricanement, elle lui fila un coup de coude, « t'as envie de te faire réveiller par le détective aussi ! »

Lukas lui ordonna de se taire avec un doigt sur la bouche. Ses joues blafardes rougissaient avec trop de facilité, le privant du plaisir d'avoir des secrets.

« Tu craques mais on dirait un gros con, quand même.

— Ouais, mais il a un côté sexy.

— Très juste. » C'était un tic de langage amusant quand elle avait encore ses cheveux roses, maintenant, c'était un nouveau détail sérieux. « Bah lance-toi alors ! C'est pas en bavant ici que tu attireras son attention. »

Avec un geste doux quoique sec, elle le poussa vers l'avant. Ignorant quoi faire de ses mains, Lukas les rangea dans ses poches et il improvisa un petit sourire en coin :

« Vous avez besoin d'aide, détective ? »

Gavin et Conrad se retournèrent en même temps vers le jeune. Le policer haussa les épaules :

« Non, je m'en sors déjà très bien. »

Gavin agrippa un bras du détenu et le dirigea vers la sortie, impatient de se séparer de ces relents d'alcool qui lui fusillaient le nez de bon matin. Malgré le refus, Anna encouragea de loin son ami pour qu'il insiste : Gavin semblait être le genre de gars à tester la bonne volonté de ses collègues. Lukas ne devait pas repartir avec une mine dépitée ou l'échec aurait été assuré. Non, le jeune homme devait plutôt montrer qu'il était toujours volontaire, assurant qu'il était prêt à mettre la main à la pâte. Alors il vint soutenir le français, se saisissant de l'autre bras et manœuvra avec Gavin pour atteindre le hall plus rapidement.

« Hé ! Je suis pu' ivre ! Je peux marcher !

— Même ton haleine est ivre, Florent, donc ta gueule. »

Conrad observait ce drôle de trio, calculant déjà les probabilités que Florent Le Dantec impose à nouveau sa face cramoisie ce soir même. C'était un homme qui lui inspirait une certaine compassion : personne ne lui avait expliqué pourquoi ce visiteur encombrant était si loin de son pays natal, ni pourquoi il se réfugiait dans la boisson aussi souvent. Certainement que c'étaient des mystères qui n'intéressaient aucune curiosité, seulement un robot qui se découvrait une conscience et un besoin de tout s'expliquer. Si Conrad pouvait oser, il lui aurait déjà posé ses questions.

Chris s'avança doucement, fidèle à son caractère serein. À la machine, il avait opté pour du chocolat chaud et l'odeur qui se dégageait du gobelet était sucrée, réconfortante. Le RK900 ignorait ce parfum jusqu'à maintenant, mais il l'aimait déjà.

« Tu peux enlever ta veste pour aujourd'hui, Conrad. On te dira rien.

— Je ne veux pas mettre l'équipe mal à l'aise à cause de ma ressemblance avec le RK800. »

Surtout si beaucoup jugeaient Connor responsable de la mort de Hank. Conrad était devenu sensible à cette comparaison et en venait à se demander pourquoi il avait un nom et un visage similaires. Il avait tant de questions pour tout…

Son collègue posa sa main sur son épaule :

« T'en fais pas : Tina était juste surprise, mais Connor et toi ne vous ressemblez pas tant que ça, en fait.

— Je suis heureux de l'apprendre. » Chris était si amical que Conrad sentait qu'il pouvait discuter. « Est-ce que votre fils Damian va bien ? »

Conrad avait aperçu les photos d'un bébé sur le bureau du policier. Cette question le toucha :

« Il va bien, merci. Il était malade le week-end dernier mais va beaucoup mieux, j'espère qu'il ne m'a rien transmis.

— Non, vous ne couvez rien d'après mon analyse. Même si je l'ai faite rapidement, je suis sûr à quatre-vingt-trois pourcents. »

L'officier se mit à rire, le remerciant à nouveau. Le détective et le stagiaire avaient réussi à traîner Florent à l'extérieur, disparaissant du couloir, Chris tourna les talons pour revenir vers les bureaux, accompagné par Conrad qui demanda soudain :

« Vous pensez vraiment que je ne ressemble pas au RK800 ? Est-ce que c'est à cause de la couleur des yeux ?

— Pas seulement. Enfin, CyberLife nous a laissé ton prédécesseur que pour quelques jours, alors on ne l'a pas vraiment connu, mais toi, ça fait bien deux mois et Gavin semble en pleine forme, » il but une gorgée de chocolat, déjà impatient d'en boire un autre en rentrant chez lui auprès de sa famille, « d'ailleurs, vous avez l'air de bien vous entendre. Vous avez improvisé une sorte de collocation ? »

Conrad ignorait quoi répondre. Il se risqua juste à révéler :

« Nous nous entendons très bien.

— Ça fait plaisir. Je n'ai jamais été proche de Gavin, je trouvais qu'il était… euh…

— Vous pouvez dire "sale con", officier Miller, je ne le répéterais pas. »

Trahi par un ricanement, Chris avoua que c'était bien le qualificatif auquel il songeait. Il n'avait pas à s'en faire, après tout, Conrad avait partagé cet avis au moment de rencontrer son partenaire.

« Il a un humour bien à lui et, pour être honnête, il m'intimidait un peu. Il avait aussi une façon de traiter Hank que je n'approuvais pas.

— Le lieutenant Anderson n'était pas un ami du détective ?

— Au contraire ! Ils étaient comme chien et chat. Ils ne se haïssaient pas, mais ils ne cherchaient pas à être proches non plus, se critiquant sans arrêt. »

L'androïde l'ignorait : la mort du lieutenant avait pourtant affecté Gavin et il avait tiré ses propres conclusions, imaginant un respect disparu à cause de la dépression de Hank.

« Le décès du lieutenant Anderson a pourtant été un choc.

— Oui, ça a surpris pas mal d'entre nous que Gavin soit un des plus touchés. Je me suis souvent demandé s'il ne se sentait pas coupable, vu comment il le critiquait.

— Le détective Reed m'a raconté que le lieutenant Anderson avait commis beaucoup de fautes professionnelles à cause de son alcoolisme.

— C'est vrai, et on devait toujours reprendre après. Gavin ne supportait pas ça : il n'a pas de problème avec la hiérarchie mais jugeait que Hank ne méritait plus son grade. Et le fait que Fowler le protège, ça envenimait les choses. »

Chris se souvenait parfaitement des tensions de l'an dernier qui avaient mis tous les nerfs à vif. Gavin avait pété les plombs plus d'une fois, prêt à enfoncer la porte du bureau de Fowler pour dénoncer les retards irrespectueux de Hank, tout comme sa paresse et ses caprices. C'était une chance que ses déboires n'avaient jamais provoqué aucun drame.

« L'an dernier, Gavin était vraiment insupportable à cause de ça… Il s'en prenait même à Connor alors que ce n'était qu'une machi… Excuse-moi, Conrad, je ne voulais pas dire ça, c'est que…

— Vous n'avez aucune inquiétude à avoir, officier Miller, le détective Reed m'a bien fait comprendre que mon prédécesseur était une machine dont le programme de sociabilité était un échec. L'impression qu'il a laissée est justifiée.

— Et c'est exactement pour ça que tu ne ressembles pas à Connor. Tu as vraiment ce quelque chose de plus. C'est peut-être pour ça que Gavin a fini par t'apprécier. »

C'était un échange agréable et, procédant à une association d'idées, Conrad se souviendrait de cette conversation à chaque fois que ses capteurs olfactifs détecteraient une odeur de chocolat chaud.

« J'ai l'impression que vous n'avez jamais été hostile envers moi, vous étiez même peut-être le seul à ne pas m'en vouloir quand je suis arrivé, » observa le RK900, surprenant Chris.

« C'est vrai que les collègues se sont mal comportés avec toi… Personnellement, j'ai arrêté d'être méfiant envers les androïdes.

— Pour une raison précise ?

— Oui. » Chris n'avait rien à cacher, alors il raconta à son collègue comment Markus avait épargné sa vie l'an dernier. « On avait été appelés pour réprimer une sorte de mouvement de révolte : des androïdes étaient entrés par effraction dans une boutique de CyberLife et volaient la marchandise. Enfin, ils volaient d'autres androïdes. Pour les libérer, je suppose… Ils formaient un groupe vraiment nombreux dans une rue et on a pris peur avec mon collègue, alors on a tiré, en espérant les faire reculer ou même fuir. Je n'ai jamais eu aussi peur : un androïde m'a obligé à me mettre à genoux et s'est mis à réclamer vengeance. Je n'aurais jamais cru qu'une machi… qu'un androïde dirait quelque chose comme ça. Un autre androïde est arrivé à ce moment-là, Markus. Il avait toutes les raisons de nous achever, mais il a pris l'arme et l'a rangée en disant aux autres de nous épargner. »

Ses poignets tremblèrent à l'évocation de ce souvenir : le choc ne s'était pas tout à fait dilué et Chris avait déjà réveillé sa femme plusieurs nuit en sursautant dans leur lit, pourtant à l'abri de la révolte interrompue par Connor. Il n'avait plus peur, maintenant, c'était le poids des regrets qui l'étouffait pendant son sommeil, empoisonné par le sentiment d'avoir _tué_.

La seule image que le Conrad avait de Markus était le discours calme que le RK200 avait diffusé depuis la tour Stratford, la nature du robot étant évidente pour s'imposer au peuple humain. Mais il n'en connaissait pas plus et cet androïde l'intriguait.

« Qu'avez-vous pensé de Markus ?

— C'est difficile, comme question... » Chris prit place sur son fauteuil, regardant le portrait punaisé de Damian. « Mais sans sa LED, je l'aurais pris pour un humain. Pour un être vivant. »

Une impression intéressante mais interrompue par le retour de Gavin.

« Putain, j'ai bu pour les deux prochaines années ! »

Lukas à ses côtés confirmait : le détective lui avait expliqué que Florent était un habitué et qu'en trois mois, ils auraient le temps de faire connaissance.

« Si jamais il te parle en français, demande la traduction à Conrad.

— C'est ce que je ferais, détective, merci. »

* * *

Leur première journée n'avait pas été éprouvante, mais il y avait tant à apprendre pour s'intégrer que Lukas commençait à fatiguer. Le temps passait à une vitesse folle et il glanait les conseils de tous, appréciant le calme et la patience de Chris.

À midi, ils avaient tous observé une minute de silence et le monde s'était alors suspendu dans le deuil, concentrant une multitude de pensées adressées à Hank. Conrad aussi, rejoignant ce moment en laissant sa veste sur le dossier de sa chaise avec l'intention de la reprendre qu'à la fin de la journée. Le monde réuni l'avait empêché de prendre la main de Gavin, mais il espérait que son partenaire savait qu'il était là pour le soutenir.

Durant l'après-midi, l'officier Miller préconisait un comportement humain : dans une société où la technologie était omniprésente, les rares contacts formaient un trésor réconfortant, et bien sûr, la neutralité.

« Même si tout désigne une personne comme coupable, si sa tête ne vous revient pas, vous laissez vos avis au placard : sans preuves, vous n'avez pas le droit d'accuser qui que ce soit. »

Bien sûr, c'était un conseil que peu de collègues appliquaient, mais Chris préféra taire ce détail. Il était surtout difficile de savoir rester neutre face à une attitude désinvolte. Le détective Ben Collins avait déjà foutu un coup de poing à un trentenaire qui le contredisait sans cesse, malgré les preuves à l'appui. Aubrey White avait renversé, malencontreusement disait-elle, son café brûlant sur les cuisses d'une femme qui battait son fils de six ans. Tina avait rédigé un rapport en le falsifiant pour rendre service à la victime, avant d'être rappelée à l'ordre par Collins qui avait suivi l'interrogatoire.

Ils devaient surveiller les comportements de chacun, calmant les colères et les museler avec efficacité. Les quatre stagiaires semblaient bien s'entendre et seraient capables d'adopter la même attitude bienveillante.

Vers quinze heures, une femme arriva, trempée, soutenue par un homme pâle comme un cadavre. Il l'avait trouvée allongée dans une ruelle déserte, la jupe relevée et la culotte déchirée. Âgée d'une trentaine d'années, elle avait le menton et la joue boursouflée, l'ecchymose prête à se déployer sur la moitié de son visage.

Anna et Wu essayèrent de réagir mais ils étaient bien trop impressionnés : la situation réelle venait d'avoir l'effet tétanisant d'un fouet. Tina s'approcha pour essayer de parler avec la victime, mais si les lèvres bougeaient, la langue était paralysée.

« Nous allons prendre vos coordonnées, monsieur. »

Celui qui accompagnait était un simple passant mais son témoignage serait peut-être utile plus tard. Il laissa donc un numéro de téléphone tandis que la femme était conduite par Lukas dans un bureau fermé à l'étage : elle ne se sentirait jamais à l'aise dans la salle principale trop vaste, trop exposé.

Conrad fixait les jambes tordues dans la démarche fragile, face encore à une nouvelle monstruosité de l'humain.

« Détective, est-ce que nous pouvons nous en occuper ? »

Ce n'était pas de la curiosité morbide, mais depuis qu'il avait commencé à compléter sa base de données concernant les comportements déviants des humains, l'androïde s'apercevait que plus il réunissait d'éléments, plus le mystère s'épaississait. Et en parallèle, il s'interrogeait sur sa propre déviance pourtant inoffensive, hormis les quelques accès de violence contre des personnes visées.

Gavin se leva pour rejoindre le stagiaire.

« Je vais prendre le relais, Karlsson. »

Lukas resta alors en retrait, mais toujours présent. Être sur le terrain était important et il ne voulait pas se dégonfler dès le premier jour.

La pièce était chauffée, reposante avec ses murs bleus. La jeune femme prit place sur une chaise, gardant quand même son manteau, refusant de l'enlever. Le détective hésitait à garder Lukas dans la pièce : Conrad était un androïde et il n'y avait aucun voyeurisme. Mais il ne connaissait pas le stagiaire et les questions qu'il devrait poser seraient très délicates.

« Karlsson, il vaut mieux que tu partes en fait. »

Par respect, le jeune homme accepta, assurant qu'il resterait dans le couloir en cas de besoin. Une proposition qui n'intéressait pas Gavin : il savait qu'il pourrait compter sur Conrad.

Une fois seuls, le détective s'installa face à la victime et activa la tablette où une application pouvait retranscrire ce que les capteurs audio enregistraient, il n'y avait besoin que d'une surveillance humaine.

« Je suis le détective Gavin Reed. Nous sommes le 11 novembre 2039 et il est quinze heures et dix-huit minutes. Comment vous appelez-vous ? »

L'interrogée inspira, encore incapable de pleurer :

« Cathleen Maddison.

— Quel âge avez-vous ? »

Elle ne regardait ni le détective, ni l'androïde : ses yeux menthe semblaient aimantés vers la surface grise de la table. Avec docilité, elle répondait à toutes les questions, s'exprimant par invitation plutôt que par elle-même. Lukas eut l'idée touchante de lui apporter un verre d'eau et, excédé, Gavin le laissa assister à l'échange.

Après de longues minutes à fonctionner par le système de questions-réponses, le récit finit par s'écrire : Cathleen Maddison était sortie dans la matinée et était sur le chemin de retour quand elle avait été agressée par un homme. Le jour ressemblait à la nuit à cause du mauvais temps et les montres étaient confuses, confondant deux heures de l'après-midi avec deux heures du matin. Elle s'était crue seule avec ses écouteurs, jusqu'à ce qu'une main ne lui agrippe les cheveux au sommet du crâne. Ce premier éclair de douleur l'avait paralysée et la suite était arrivée si vite, s'enroulant autour d'elle, l'enlaçant d'effroi.

Gavin aurait pu prendre son temps, mais les questions devaient être formulées, comme d'habitude :

« Est-ce que votre agresseur vous a touché à travers vos vêtements ? »

Les réponses devinrent alors muettes. La jeune femme secoua la tête, expliquant, sans avoir besoin de sa voix, que ses vêtements avaient été retirés.

Intimidé par cette scène, Lukas baissa alors son visage. Il ne regrettait pas d'assister à cet échange, d'une certaine façon, il espérait apporter du réconfort en restant présent et en encaissant avec la victime le récit du drame.

Au bout d'un moment, elle souffla :

« L'homme qui m'a emmenée ici, il a tout vu.

— Il a dit qu'il vous avait trouvée dans la rue, vous contestez donc sa déclaration ?

— Oui… » Elle noua ses doigts ensemble, saisie soudain de tremblements, « je ne veux pas qu'il ait de problèmes, mais… »

Le stagiaire avait envie de poser sa main sur l'étreinte tordue des articulations, mais se retint de justesse. Il aurait pu se faire engueuler par Gavin.

« Maddison, il aurait dû appeler la police. Il a commis lui aussi une faute, moins grave que celle de votre agresseur, oui, mais il a… » _manqué de couilles_ , c'était une expression qui était prête à franchir ses lèvres mais le détective se ressaisit, « … il a manqué à son devoir. »

Enfin, les premières larmes arrivèrent. Elle posa ses coudes sur le rebord de la table et appuya son front contre ses poings. Dans un sanglot, Gavin l'entendit dire :

« Si seulement je m'étais habillée autrement… »

Le détective ne se serait pas risqué à lui tenir la main, pourtant, il se pencha et, avec une franchise que Conrad admirait déjà, rappela à la victime :

« Ça n'a rien à voir, Maddison. Porter une jupe n'est pas un crime. Violer, par contre, c'en est un. Vous êtes libre de porter ce que vous voulez, et les malades sont priés de garder leur bite dans leur froc. »

Lukas était surpris par la réplique, sursautant même. Conrad n'était pas sûr concernant la démarche, mais les mots semblaient résonner chez la jeune femme qui redressa un peu la tête et ravala ses premiers sanglots. L'intention était là.

« Merci. »

C'était curieux : le RK900 repensa soudain à sa veste blanche qu'il avait laissée au rez-de-chaussée, se demandant jusqu'à quel point les tenues pouvaient refléter une identité.


	2. One December Evening

Wu Ah was part of a generation of Chinese people who proudly wore their original names, denigrating the old ways of adopting an anglicized name. He had never understood this tradition, preferring to keep faithful to his roots. And if ever the American accent scratched a little his name, the future policeman did not offend; he instead appreciated the effort.

The car barely trembled. The windows were showing either dark tunnels or the horizon of Detroit waking up, marking the beginning of a new day. The cold rays of the December sun gave a blinding glow to the metal that encompassed the passengers, and under this brutal light, blond hair shone, beards flared, eyes narrowed under the splinters. The retinas had forgotten how hot the caresses of dawn could be. Wu did not hesitate to close his eyes, enjoying the warmth that flew over his slightly round cheeks and his collar that seemed to absorb that dull summer.

The more days passed, the more Wu was gaining insurance. He did not quite understand Lukas' appeal to Detective Reed, clearly preferring the company of less mocking police officers like Chris or Alice Person, an Asian too, who enjoyed quietness and often ate out, only accompanied by a book. As a big reader himself, Wu had then sympathized with her by discussing books, sharing their discoveries in the staff room. There was also Martin Wilson, a sensitive and secret nature, quite the reverse of his younger brother, Alfred Wilson, talkative but pleasant.

The future policeman saw in his mind the faces that accompanied his new daily, happy with this experience.

Mickael Nelson seemed the least enthusiastic, struggling to find a place in this office so active, perhaps dreading an unsuccessful future because of the RK900 and other androids. After all, it was true: the four young people had an uncertain future, ruled by massive unemployment. But damn, this RK900, it was so impressive! It did not look like other androids: it was more advanced. It was as if it represented on its own a new form of life.

At this thought, Wu shivered, opening his eyes all at once. Technology had become a wild plant, escaping the hand of man to develop on its own, adapting and becoming encrusted in this landscape of bitumen.

Nobody knew who was the Android that led the revolution last year: the RK200 was recovered by CyberLife who promised to analyze the machine to reduce the risk of deviance. Yet, this android had since disappeared into the meanders of the company, buried by the turbulent period that had swayed the giant multimillionaire. Fed by news reports, Wu had worried about the deviance of androids and he could not darer to imagine what could happen if the RK900 went crazy.

Shouts of voice then attracted his attention: a bunch of morons was bothering a couple for a matter of feet trampled. The bursts of the morning hollowed out the features of the woman who did not know what to do: she kept apologizing, in vain. The man held her hand, spreading her behind him while trying to calm the dispute, but nothing worked: it was the kind of group that was trying to fight right out of bed.

Another passenger dressed in a beautiful suit stood up, joining his voice to those of the victims to relativize the drama. His involvement had the opposite effect, of course. Wu admired the two other people who got up in turn, ready to intimidate. Following a crowd effect, his card giving him courage, the young policeman eventually leave his seat too. Wu understood the looks people were giving him; he was delighted to be underestimated because of his size, and the effect when he opened his leather jacket to root out the police academy card was truly enjoyable. He was not even a trooper, but it was the word "police" that counted, provoking a cold shower effect.

"Is there a problem? I'm on my way to the police station, we can fix everything there if you want. It won't take long."

This simple warning threw water on the ardors: each tried to explain, to justify itself to this authority without uniform. Wu finally nodded, making it clear that if the conclusion was put, he could return to his place.

"Okay, so it's fine. Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen."

Repressing a smile, the young recruit settled down again, eager to tell the story to his colleagues.

* * *

At the end of his story, Tina burst out laughing, congratulating him with an arm around his neck. Martin Wilson hid a smile in his cup.

"I love when artists talk about addiction to appear on stage," said Alfred, "our pleasure is to scare the creeps."

Gavin could only approve. He remembered one night in a bar, when he was accompanied by three friends and they all drank quietly, chatting about things and others before being pissed off by a guy who was enjoying his fifth pint. He had settled down at their table, landing heavily and beginning to ask each of them indiscreet questions. At the time, the detective was only a trooper but he had pulled out his badge, one hand on his belt to remind him of the presence of his gun. The police emblem had a sobering effect and the man was gone, letting the friends laugh with all together.

Other colleagues began to recount their own moments of glory, using impressive details, provoking nice jokes. Tina was always the first to play around with her colleagues, then asking for forgiveness by throwing a piece of sugar in theirs cups for, she said, adding sweetness in this cruel world. Still, Ben Collins was placing his hand over his coffee, preferring it strong.

"Which bar do you prefer?"

During those three weeks, Lukas had managed to get closer to the detective. Tina had confirmed to him that Gavin was single and that if he also liked thriller movies, he could talk with this colleague for hours. As long as the job was done, the young rookie could flirt with his older fellow.

"I've my preference for the Charlie's, and I always go there with good friends."

He winked at Tina, who returned it to him, full of complicity, before going back to bother Ben.

Lowering his voice a bit, Lukas struggled against the redness that was trying to invade his face when he asked:

"Do you think I can be a good friend, then? I've never been to the Charlie's, maybe I could go with you?"

Gavin restrained himself from glancing at Conrad, who was analyzing complaints at its office. Despite the shy approaches, he understood that the trainee was flirting with him, but now, Lukas was more direct. The android and the man had not named yet their relationship, and even if it was secret, it was mostly stable and serious, so Gavin did not intend to go elsewhere, surprising himself to really appreciate his artificial lover. If the situation of robots was not so complicated, he would assume this relationship more easily—

So what could he say? _Nah, thanks, I'm already with the latest prototype of CyberLife, I just wait for people to become less dumb to speak about it freely_? Instead, he apologized otherwise:

"Maybe one of these days. I'm leaving for Milwaukee tomorrow and I'm not coming back before two weeks," in fact, he would stay at his mother's house for five days before returning to Detroit for the last week of holidays, but Lukas did not have to know all the details, "we'll see later."

"Oh, yeah, of course. You're going to visit your family?"

The detective was thinking of going to smoke to end this conversation. Conrad was only a few feet away and Gavin did not know whether it could hear them or not. Finally, he agreed to talk to the rookie: as long as he did not encourage Lukas' expectations, he did not feel guilty about Conrad.

* * *

It was the second time that Conrad had been driving to Virginia Reed's, helping the detective who could rest next to it. A trip very different from the first, much more serene. Although the titles of _Poets of the Fall_ were played, recalling some memories.

Gavin had Gnocchi's cage on his knees, sliding his fingers through the fence to bring meager comfort to the still terrified cat. On the side of the road, the snow had accumulated, resistant to the rays of the sun, perhaps daring enough to shine until Christmas.

Childless policeman, Gavin had taken his holidays before the end of the year, leaving the week of Christmas to colleagues like Chris. But to work during this period was to undergo a collection of bullshit.

"That much? Why?"

Its question made Gavin laugh:

"Because of family meals. Don't you know these clichés? The drunk uncle who provokes everyone, the teens who are bored and do everything to get out of the table, the people who leave by slamming the door— Alcohol _and_ beautiful silverware, you can be sure to have some drama. Hospitals and police stations are crowded at the end of the year."

"It's quite curious. Human is a social animal and yet, the more you are, the more you g out of control."

"If you know that, Terminator, then you know everything you need about the human race."

Conrad was flattered and took Gavin's hand to bring it to its lips. It had never sketched this gesture before, and especially not in daylight, but the car was rolling and the other drivers were marveling at the landscape rather than watching what was going on in the neighbors. Despite the heating in the vehicle, Gavin's fingers were cold: the heat from the lips of the android was welcome.

"It's because I'm learning from you. By the way, these family meals, it has a ring of truth about it, you experience it a lot?"

"Never, in fact. My mother sometimes invited one or two friends, but I always spent Christmas in small groups. My father took off, my grandparents died before I was born— I guess I was lucky in my misfortune: I have no problem with Christmas."

The RK900 was unaware of its date of creation, since it was modified a lot, but it was sure of one thing: its memory had no trace of these weeks full of decorated Christmas trees, colorful garlands. It still did not know the smell of gingerbread and candied orange.

The streets of Detroit had begun to be decorated with silhouettes of angels and stars hung in the trees, these silver figures replacing the missing leaves. And in the parks, occasional vendors offered roasted chestnuts or hot coffees, signaling their presence with these raw fragrances. Conrad had also noticed the tired looks of passersby caused by the gifts race.

Because of the gap, Gavin would celebrate Christmas in advance with his mother and Conrad had accompanied its teammate in a candle shop, then a clothes one to buy a cozy plaid. The detective could have ordered them via the net, but it was an opportunity to go out and the RK900 discovered something other than the path between the apartment and the police station. In the aisles of the shops, the fingers had not touched but the glances had been numerous, just like their jokes. No one had been paying attention to them, igniting perfect ignorance as long as the two men looked like friends.

"Have you planned to do something in Detroit?"

"There isn't a tree in the living room, Robocop."

Yes, it was obvious. Conrad had forgotten that the decorations that lit up the street had not contaminated Gavin's apartment. The garlands that went from one facade to the other were already ample. These artificial stars colored the ceiling with golden and silver gleams, making the day eternal.

"Do you worry?"

From the passenger seat, Gavin could not see his partner's LED, but he would have bet that it was leaning more and more towards the yellow as the miles traveled. Before the departure, they had discussed their situation: if living in the shadow had an exciting side, the frustration was too heavy and, with a very personal revolution, they could try to impose themselves in this technophobic city.

The RK900 already dreaded the reactions of humans, used to confine its deviance while Gavin, on the contrary, needed to hit the world. It was the only way to give this relationship a chance.

"I trust you."

"Hey, for now, we're just friends, no big deal. I think colleagues have already noticed this detail and nobody told me anything. But maybe because I scare them too much for that."

"Or because they like me more than you?"

Gavin had left his hand on the android's shoulder after kissing his fingers, and even though he knew he would not cause any pain, he pinched Conrad's neck.

"No, in fact, I'm sure they like me and you, you scare them. Terminator."

* * *

Conrad was happy to come back here. Heaps of snow had replaced the piles of leaves now, it could see them shining despite the dim light, and when the light from the front steps lit up, the silver turned into gold. This time, Virginia took the time to wrap herself in a shawl before opening the door. Her smile was however the same, so radiant to drive away loneliness. She waited at the top of the stairs for her son and companion to take the bags out of the chest.

"Holy fucking shit, I'm freezing!"

An icy wind was blowing. Gavin had not raised his collar in time and his mother came to read on his lips. When he approached, she lectured him, advising him not to take advantage of her deafness to be so vulgar. The RK900 rethought all the swear words pronounced every hour and kept its facial muscles to maintain a serious look.

At first, Virginia had wondered who was the one who accompanied Gavin before finally seeing the LED. The detail that the android was wearing a sweater and a jacket then was blindingly obvious.

Gavin leaned over to embrace her mother, feeling under her frail shoulders how strong and loving she was. But as for the android, the little lady did not know what attitude to adopt, so it was the android who reacts by extending its hand.

If Virginia could ignore the blue ring, the robot could look like an authentic human being. Curious, she then placed her hand in its and Conrad itself initiated the movement to greet her, gently waving their wrists. The android felt a genuine sympathy for Virginia: after all, she was one of the creators of the man who mattered so much for it.

Entering a doubt, Virginia pointed to the face of the RK900 and asked her son if it was the same android as the last time. Gavin nodded. So much for the better: if her mother got to the subject herself, it would be easier.

" _He changed._ "

Again, the son confirmed. He went to the living room, casual and quiet, so that his mother would follow him. Virginia had to wait for Gavin to finish using the coffee machine by placing two cups under the hot tip, his hands moving, then mute. He took advantage of this time to look for the words to sign. Then, he settled down in front of his mother, giving her one of the steaming cups. She calmed her cold palms against it. A first sip of coffee for a last moment of reflection and finally, the man said:

" _Do you remember last year's revolt?_ "

Of course. She had worried about him.

The deviance, the feelings of androids, just like the emotions— all these things still escaped Gavin, but he could pretend to know the subject a little. If that was enough to convince humans, the lie was perfectly justified.

While trying to be convincing, Gavin explained to her that androids seemed able to feel like a human being, that they could develop a personality, tastes, opinions.

With a gesture, he suddenly invited Conrad to approach: until now, the robot had remained in the entrance, watching the exchange from afar. Prudent and anxious, it obeyed, taking a seat between the mother and the son.

" _Conrad has become deviant. We became friends._ "

Through her glasses, Virginia examined this friend's face. She had never owned an android herself, not giving in to this fashion, but even she knew that a red LED was a worrying sign. When Gavin put his hand on the robot's shoulder, the ring turned blue.

With a frown, his mother observed:

" _You didn't like androids._ "

" _I changed my mind._ "

She did not feel hostile to the idea, just skeptical about this turnaround. Last November, her son had assured her that he had his weapon all the time on him, ready to shoot in the first deviant plastic skull.

" _The media said they were dangerous._ "

" _It depends._ "

Conrad kept its palms on its thighs. It knew how to seize a right when it was with other androids, like the delivery model, last time, but with humans, it lacked daring. And it was Gavin's mother. The probabilities of regret in case of failure were too great.

" _Conrad was never violent,_ " a new lie, but the RK900 only showed its anger to specific people. A behavior close to that of Gavin in short. " _We work together and we're close now. Everything is going well._ "

Although she was skeptical, Virginia turned to the RK900. There was no armband on its sweater, no code was written on its clothes: if the LED was on the other temple, concealed, it would have looked like a man.

" _Do you remember me?_ "

The android had changed and the old lady wondered if its memory had been altered. She knew nothing about technology and artificial intelligences. But the sweet smile it addressed to her was unequivocal:

" _Of course I do, you're Virginia Reed. You didn't want me to clear the table with you because it's your home._ "

She laughed. A laugh very different from the son who always let himself go to laugh. On the contrary, if Virginia revealed teeth damaged by time, her voice was contained in a sneer stuck in the throat. She made other signs to compliment it:

" _I remember you sign very well._ "

" _Thank you. So if you have any questions, I'll answer them._ "

The gnarled index went back and forth between Gavin and Conrad:

" _Have you been friends for a long time?_ "

" _Almost three months,_ " replied the android, sparing her the steps of this friendship, " _we talk a lot. Gavin made me discover cinema, music._ "

" _Do you live with Gavin?_ "

Unlike the detective, Conrad did not want to lie and some details had to be revealed in order to dig a path to their secret.

" _Yes. For three months._ "

Gavin was drinking his coffee, following the fluid exchange between his mother and Conrad. The need for answers made her talkative, encouraging her to ask questions about the android, about its relationship with her son.

This first approach comforted the human. Maybe there was hope after all. Under the table, his foot touched the RK900's ankle.

A neighbor had lent his AP700 so that some wood would be stock behind the house. With Conrad's help, Gavin brought some logs back to the fireplace. The soles crushed the snow still intact, marking their passage in the icy humidity. The android extended its arms to carry a few logs and, in this sleeping corner of the garden, it took the opportunity to ask:

"Do you think your mother will accept the idea that you— that you're dating an android?"

"I'm too cold to discuss, Conrad," his nails were almost blue, he felt it without needing to see them, "and I don't know."

Conrad would have liked to be able to sigh. Once again, Gavin was not classifying their relationship. How many weeks, how many months before he decides?

* * *

Gnocchi was curled up against his master's loins, enjoying the warmth even though Gavin had only the blanket over him. The wind had calmed down, but a few squalls persisted, making the flaps shake and the branches cracking outside. The dust accumulated on the radiator diffused a slight smell of burning, of forgotten room.

To deceive his impatience, the detective was reading articles, scrolling through the titles on his cell phone, reading what the reporters had written on the RK900. Although Conrad was not intended for sale, Gavin was surprised that CyberLife was so discrete about its latest prototype. On the contrary, the RK800 was entitled to several articles, especially after interrupting the deviant revolution, attracting waves of praise.

Did technicians avoid being too pretentious to regain easier the trust of their customers after the many cases of deviance? After all, Gavin knew it: the RK900 was a failure, also being touched by emotions.

The door barely squeaked and the cat opened his eyes, suddenly hypnotized by the LED that had just appeared. Gnocchi knew he would not stay in his place for long: the robot would come to bed, occupying his side. But the cat was stubborn and he stayed on that corner of already heated cloth. In fact, the android took place on the edge of the bed, on the side of Gavin.

"You aren't sleeping yet?"

"No chance I would sleep before you come," Gavin turned off his screen. In the dim light, Conrad began to remove its sweater. "I was reading articles about you."

The rustle of the fabric was pleasant and to suppress a smile, Gavin bit his lip, enjoying seeing the azure band, this sign of nakedness. When they made love, this part was always boiling.

"What do they say?"

"Not much for the moment, they especially put forward the fact that you helped for an important investigation. But they forget many details."

"Really? And what would you add?"

Gavin grabbed the android's arm and tipped it over, kissing it while helping it to pull the rest of clothes away. His way of hugging replaced the words he could have written. They had already explored each other so many times, but neither of them was tired of rediscovering their body. Embarrassed by the gestures of the arms pulling the blanket, Gnocchi shifted, but only a few inches. He was not going to give in to all their whims.

"I would write that you're a bit too sexy to investigate."

"I could say the same thing about you."

"It's not the same thing: you have no scar."

"Because I know how to tame cats," Gavin hit its thigh with his knee to laugh, "I can even cuddle the worst of them."

When Conrad slipped a hand on his stomach, Gavin did not want to laugh anymore, he admitted defeat under this hot touch. Under the sheet, the legs opened, tightened, embraced. The sometimes abrupt movements served to surprise, to dominate, to love. Gnocchi was a silent witness who did not judge them, mocking the laws. Though the laws did not forbid the metal to marry the flesh: only the feelings were condemned by society.

Conrad was almost jealous of the BL100s: if this number model had replaced the RK900 on its jacket, Gavin could have presented it as a romantic partner, not a professional one.

There was so much warmth from the plastic body that the blanket was no longer needed, so Gavin pushed it away with a wave of the arm, pulling it back above the cat who uttered a confused mew, ignored by the two lovers. Gnocchi yawned, tired: when the bipeds had fun, the pet was forgotten.

The android straightened slightly, the torso captured by the thighs of the human. Gavin had the flexibility of a cat and, even though he often asked for massages after days of sitting like a child, he always managed to surprise his partner by kissing it by surprise, and if the lips were inaccessible, his mouth found another target. He touched the armband, playing with the flickering light as when the synthetic skin disappeared.

The wind could roar, nothing seemed terrifying that night. The flesh was associated with the unveiled plastic, composing the union already repeated many times. They were alone and allowed themselves to love each other.

Conrad then put its hand against Gavin's mouth, putting its lips down his neck. It loved when its partner called him, yet it also discovered pleasures that really put the biocomponents of his lower abdomen to the test. And this dangerous heat, the android always welcomed it.

"Why are you trying to gag me," Gavin asked, pulling its hand away from his face, "so who cares if we make some noise?"

"I know, but I like to hear you fight."

This response provoked electric chills.

"And now I'm aroused by a tin can—"

Gavin put his lover's hand on his smiley mouth.

Making love with an android asked for a time of habituation that had first destabilized the human. The absence of breathing, of moan deprived the partner of the most obvious clues, but by persevering, Gavin was getting better and better to find his bearings and understood that everything in the android was tactile. The most fascinating thing was when he masturbated Conrad and placed his other hand under the robot's shoulder blade, where he could feel the metal protrusion move with jerks, feeling the pulsating muscles. This reaction replaced all possible sighs.

Gnocchi persisted in sleeping even when the head of the bed began to shake, almost hitting the wall. Sitting on the Gavin's crotch, Conrad slowed down the rhythm of its hips, containing both its euphoria and the springs of its joints. Under its palm, Gavin was smiling. Arrogant, the man suddenly planted his teeth in the flesh of the hand, biting and kissing. This texture too smooth did not bother him anymore, just like this taste of plastic.

His muscles began to liquefy. Gavin was ready to let go, ready to be grabbed by the first spasms, when he felt warm drops falling heavily over his stomach: the RK900 was turning itself off.

"Fuck! Conrad! Stop!"

As he straightened up, Gavin pushed aside the murderous hand that had tried to extract the heart and re-inserted the thirium pump. He was also used to this maneuver. To protect the android from itself, the man pressed it against his chest, ignoring the last blue drops that slipped against his skin. This slimy blood had an awful tendency to stick to the hair, but it was more important at the moment.

Conrad was still paralyzed, the blurred view of overheating alarms, unrecognizable, incoherent messages and shaky biocomponents. Its arms circled Gavin's shoulders, taking a more secure hold to better emerge from this state.

Finally, he managed to articulate:

"I'm sorry, Gavin."

The man sighed. These suicidal gestures were an automatism that occurred four times out of five, cutting the momentum and destroying the embrace.

Still trapped by these rigid arms, Gavin lay the robot at his side. Obviously, Gnocchi was the only one to appreciate the heat diffused by the mechanical body, coming to snuggle there as when he settles on a radiator.

"It's okay, don't worry."

In fact, if was pissing him off: Gavin could not bear to not understand. Maybe these moments were damaging the android. After all, if it was not programmed to make love, its primary duties may have condemned this sentimental deviance.

Gavin left the ridiculous concept of "doing something wrong" to whining songs, but if they did something dangerous, then it was different.

Gradually taking control of its mouth, reclaiming its body, Conrad succeeded in kissing the brow of his partner, hoping to calm this frustration.

"It's not and I'm sorry: my reactions spoil our moments, and even I can't stand it."

"Maybe I should tie you?"

"I might break the handcuffs and my wrists at the same time. I don't want to go back to CyberLife, especially to replace my wrists. The leg was an accident during a mission, but how do we explain that I was handcuffed? At your home and completely naked?"

While Gavin was trying to laugh, the towering tower appeared in the memory of the android. The RK900 had made the decision to flee this place, refusing to take the risk of being disabled and replaced. Even if samples of its memory remain in a new RK900, Gavin would never accept the new model. Like humans who were afraid of being buried alive, Conrad was terrified of being in an envelope without being touched.

Yet this Babel certainly had the answers it needed.

If the fate of other androids left Gavin indifferent, the one of his partner was of any other importance. Yet, because of the respective natures, Conrad was not sure that the human understands its desire for freedom. To develop further, the RK900 had to talk with other humans, maybe even with other androids, to get rid of what it already knew.

It put its fingers on Gavin's temple, exactly where a LED would have shone if its partner had been a machine too. But under the skin, it perceived the beat of the blood, a rhythm peculiar to human.

Conrad let Gavin kiss it while thinking about these options. After its lover, the first trustworthy name turned out to be Christopher Landru's. The RK900 had admiration for the forensic scientist, thanks to the painful decision of the ZK200s and the reason of his attachment to Moira. The man seemed tolerant and it would surely be the last to judge their relationship.

Yes, if it had managed to talk half-words with Virginia Reed, Conrad could reveal the situation to Landru. But it was a decision it kept for itself, fearing that its partner would forbid it to ask the doctor for advice.

* * *

The thirium pump worked with strange jolts, suffocating under the weight of certain secrets. On the last night of their stay in Milwaukee, Conrad did not come to the bedroom. Around two o'clock in the morning, Gavin had come down, asking it why it had not come to join him.

"I didn't want to" was the only answer, and it had the effect of a punch for the detective. The android choose poorly its words, meaning it was afraid of committing another fault, but Gavin felt like he was being repulsed. Instead of asking it for a better explanation, he had gone back to bed, his cheeks red with anger and his heart bubbling.

They had not discussed it again and after their return to Detroit, their daily lives were so busy that they had other things to think about. Their evenings bore the coldness of simple cordiality, and only Mark Spencer's engaged speech resounded in the living room.

As soon as the politician raised the question of androids, Conrad listened with great interest. There were people protesting across the United States and some states had already changed laws after months of debate. Much to the surprise of the RK900, a BL100 had married its owner in Maine. The skeptics claimed that the android did not know what the ring on its finger meant when others encouraged the initiative, delighted to see this beginning of harmony. When the screen showed the BL100 wearing a white dress, a beaming smile, Gavin pretended to be focused on his cell phone, keeping his opinion secret. In Oregon, a little boy beaten by his father had asked to be adopted by the AX400 that had saved his life, preferring to be raised by this machine capable of loving rather than the fists of flesh that hit him. A wish that could not have been answered but had moved the audience.

So why was the situation in Detroit so disastrous? It was the origin of the revolution and the turmoil had changed the mentalities around, but the nucleus where was implanted CyberLife did not change. The RK900 intended to end this contrast, little by little, but it needed to learn more about Markus and its revolution. It needed answers.

* * *

Mickael Nelson had just left the police station with pensive silence. His colleagues showed such motivation, such enthusiasm that he felt out of place in this excited troupe. The young man was not so sure of his path: they had started a month ago but he was not sure he wanted to manage drunkards or couples who confused love and hate. It was not a facet of the society he wanted to see. Cop might not be a job for him, eventually—

In the street, both humans and androids received the spits of melted snow, hitting their faces: contempt fell on this crowd and the sky made no distinction between the two species. The frost had spread over the walls of the subway, covering the tiling with glistening, shaped by the moaning wind. At the open-air station, passersby were careful walking with caution, avoiding to slip on an icy trail.

Mickael was eager for the first suburban train to arrive: the sign announced it in three minutes. Three minutes to look at the heavy snow hammering the metal roofs, to meet sleepy eyes, to pat the foot to resist the winter. The young recruit amused himself by watching the windows turn on or off in the buildings above, marking a teeming rhythm of life.

Finally, the suburban train arrived and people rushed inside, looking for a place and heating. Mickael could take his time: he was going to the other end of line E and would not go down until fourteen stations, aiming for the last stop.

On the other side of the window, in the androids compartment, the machines were lined up. Each had its place and function, imitating organized bees.

Two stations later, an old lady came in and a teenager with a huge suitcase stood up, leaving her seat.

"You're nice, but I'm going to stay up."

"Don't worry: I just spent four hours on a plane, I had my quota."

The two passengers laughed and the elderly person could sit down. Under his scarf, Mickael smiled. That was the society he wanted to see. This pleasant, human atmosphere that opposed the rigidity of the machines at the bottom of the wagon. The trainee would wait until the end of the internship to make up his mind, but he would certainly abort this career that would not make him happy.

There were not many people left in the compartment. It was the last Friday before Christmas, and some of them were carrying bags that hid gifts. The weekend promised to be festive. Mikael would visit his parents-in-law with his girlfriend: last year, Christmas was celebrated at the Nelson's, but this year, it would be the opposite.

There were eight other passengers and four androids.

Rachel Hall was eager to go home. She did not like those times when the night was so greedy that it devoured the sky around six o'clock. In front of her sat a rather imposing man, graying hair. His thick fingers were gripped by nervous twitches, jolts of sleep. The young woman had hesitated to wake him during the trip, but maybe he was going to the last stop, like her. As long as he did not follow her to her house—

She was stupid. Two days earlier, she had seen with her sister a horrible film about a serial killer and the story had shocked her, preventing her from sleeping the first night. Rachel lived only thirty meters from the station, so she was safe. All of a sudden, her hair became electric, becoming thick around her wool collar, scraping it off. The sensation was so unpleasant that she started to grumble.

And the car stopped. Suddenly plunging passengers into complete darkness. The lights of the city seemed so distant, imitating ice stars. Rachel looked up, facing the metal that reflected the sparks of color. She jumped when an android's forehead hit the window: all the LEDs were red before turning off. No one on board understood what was happening.

The doors opened while they were between two stations, a few minutes from the terminus. An android entered, sweeping the wagon with a greenish yellow lamp.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We apologize for the inconvenience, we will fix this technical problem as soon as possible."

Like a ghost from an urban legend, the model at the service of the Detroit transport company moved between the seats. Passengers had risen, leaning over, curious. Mickael prevented the android from accessing the control panel, so he excused himself before moving away.

The ray of light sought, inspected. As the minutes went by, the passengers were won over by the annoyance. The imposing man had got up and was walking down the hall. He accidentally hit the passenger who was sitting in front of him a few moments earlier.

"Sorry."

Finally, the android had completed its task and thanked the passengers for their patience. The machine dug a path in the small crowd around it and left the wagon, letting the doors close behind it.

The vehicle resumed but the lights did not come back immediately. When the bulbs shone again, all the passengers looked at each other with livid and haggard skin tones. The slightest problem could really create a feeling of unease. They all felt ridiculous!

The train arrived at the final destination and Rachel, sorry, gave a small smile, ready to leave the wagon and her companions who had shared her anxiety.

A passenger collapsed and under his dark coat, towards his stomach, blood began to flow. Another woman stumbled, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in her ribs. Her palm flew over the place and moved away, red and shiny.

The panic was no longer laughable as blood streams began to spill onto the floor. Rachel was in pain too, without understanding where the twinge was coming from a few inches from her belly button. She was too scared to lower her face, but she felt her legs slip away under her weight and the back of her skull hit the edge of a seat.

Even if Mickael had his throat knotted, he managed to get out his cell phone: five passengers had just collapsed, frightened and wounded. They needed an ambulance. His trembling fingers were tapping on the screen. And while he was giving the necessary information on the phone, the young recruit noticed that androids were still disabled, as well as dead.


	3. Nocturnal Trips

Detective Reed's cellphone had just rang, emitting a crystalline and ephemeral sound. This was not the reason for Conrad's awakening.

It was past two o'clock in the morning and the android sometimes went into a sleep mode or spent the night reading articles related to news scientific studies. Humans were so prolific that hundreds of data entered every second. Able to understand and speak more than three hundred languages, the RK900 browsed them without difficulty, observing the opinions of each according to culture, sex, education— the variety would have been impressive for a human being, but for the machine, it was simply a longer series of knowledge to deal with.

That night, the programs had worked at a more peaceful pace, scribing plans and calculating the odds of returning to the CyberLife tower, taking the time to think about the situations. In contrast, the tasks associated with Gavin were more unstable: as an obsessive thought, Conrad was unable to close these noisy programs and focus solely on one goal. Somewhere, its codes were still speaking of Gavin, close to throbbing feelings.

The android had kept its compliments generator but had opted for random periods. And it had just activated right now.

Gavin was deeply asleep, turning his back, so Conrad slipped against him, shaking his shoulder slightly:

"Gavin."

The man was still sleeping, the snoring barely disturbed. The robot then shook him more firmly.

"Gavin."

The man finally emerged, grumbling.

"Gavin. I really care about you."

"Huh?"

What time was it? Gavin remembered that they had gone to bed in total silence. To defy Conrad, he had turned your back on it hoping that the android passes its arms around him to reconcile, also tempted by the desire to repel it for revenge. He had not managed to decide, but in the end, Conrad had not moved, depriving him of the pleasure of provoking, of the pleasure of making peace. Deep down, that was what he wanted the most.

The phone screen showed what time was it and Gavin cursed.

"Fuck— Did you need to tell me that now?"

Conrad ran its hand through his hair, caressing the dark strands.

"Go back to sleep."

"Your fucking generator, I should shove it up your ass."

He could have let the anger explode, but Conrad was stuck to his back, one arm around his waist. After all, it was a way to bury the hatchet.

* * *

The first message received at two o'clock mentioned five victims stabbed from nowhere. The second message, at eight o'clock, came from Dr. Landru and specified five dead this time. Gavin ran a hand over his face, grumbling: Conrad had disturbed his sleep and now, this awakening that promised a great mess. He handed his phone to the android so it could read the message.

Moira had taken care of the bodies very early in the morning, well before the arrival of the forensic. It had therefore prepared the file, identified the victims and cleaned them. The detective and the RK900 would go to the police station first, consulting the report of the PC200s who were there first with two human policemen, serving as cameras and able to record the crime scene in a 360-degree panorama. These famous advancements in technology that made CyberLife so successful.

"You know what's so great with androids? Thanks to the police models, I can sleep even when something happens in the evening. But guess what, a fucking RK900 woke me up in the dead of night because he wanted to tell me some bullshit."

"I told you, Gavin, I didn't set the hours of the generator and I obeyed it. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I might have forgiven you if you had woken me for something else."

"I'm willing to take your instructions," replied the android who got the dubious joke, which almost tore a smile from Gavin. Almost.

"Nah, let it go."

At the police station, only Conrad noticed the absence of one of the four recruits, but it did not take the initiative to ask why Mickael Nelson was not here. A box of fresh donuts rested next to gathered colleagues who did not seem to want to touch it, ignoring the bright, colorful frosting. For his part, called by the mass of work, Detective Reed settled at his desk, crossing his ankles on the edge and blessing the era of tablets connected to computers.

The tragedy occurred shortly before ten o'clock in the evening, at the terminus of line E, the Roxbury station. Some shots accompanied the report, offering a real view in the wagon. The blood had hardly dried on the metal floor, gleaming over the steel. When he read the list of survivors, the detective jumped: Mickael Nelson appeared on it, with Scott Harper, Carrie Briggs and Richard White. The other passengers were dead.

The detective raised his head and called Lukas who was passing at that moment:

"Lukas, did you know that Mickael was on the crime scene yesterday?"

Indeed, the recruit knew why his colleague did not come this morning, and the shock of the one who was absent echoed throughout the police station. The policemen were talking about this fact that counterbalanced with the festive atmosphere, feeling almost a desire for chaos during this time that was meant to be warm.

The violent burst of blood on the steel had marked the novices.

There were also four androids which had seen nothing since they were disabled during the trip. The owners had not recovered them yet as they were stored in another police station at the moment. The paperwork had to be processed to allow these four machines to be transferred to Fowler's place.

Not to mention the cameras: the car had suddenly stopped and the surveillance systems had taken a break in a technological coma.

Conrad had recorded the report in its memory, sorting information and organizing priorities. First, the detective and the android had to interrogate the survivors, leaving time for Christopher Landru to receive them with a full report. They would meet with the subway company later, but the dates held back the investigation and despite the deaths, the technicians were on their holiday for the week-end.

The culprit had chosen the ideal period.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, the car parked at the foot of an anorexic building, composition of narrow apartments to welcome as many people as possible. Before descending, the RK900 observed the drab colors of these facades faded by the icy sun. At least, the weather was nice for Christmas Eve and some would be delighted with this blue sky, softer than vivid hue.

"I feel sorry for Mickael Nelson," confessed Conrad. In spite of the last slightly cold interactions, Gavin approved, also pitying that kid.

The detective was not very interested in the dailies of the recruits, especially because taking care of them was not a part of his duties, so he did not know that this trainee had hesitated about his future. But the drama of the day before had pointed the final decision.

Gavin pressed the switch beside Nelson's name, and a feminine voice, serious and pleasant, answered him. After introducing themselves, they were allowed to enter.

Mickael's girlfriend, Vanessa, was a pretty girl with incredibly long hair. The golden locks, truthful adjective thanks to the blond dye made of glitter, swept her kidneys as soon as she moved her head. However, one could not trust her butterfly glasses which reminded the secretaries of the past century: the piercings at the corners of her mouth broke the myth of the quiet woman. She was facing a colleague of her boyfriend and authority at the same time, yet Vanessa did not hesitate to reach out to Gavin and, surprisingly, to Conrad too, greeting them with respect. The android appreciated the gesture.

Vanessa would never have confessed in public, but with three years less than Mickael, she belonged to this generation who wanted a harmonious future, no matter whether the machines were present or not, as long as the world was at peace.

The detective was prepared to ask the young man how he felt, but the trainee was so livid that the answer was obvious.

"Can you answer my questions, Mickael? I can come back later."

Mickael shrugged, still confused.

"It's better to take care of it now," Vanessa advised before turning to Gavin, "we're leaving early in the afternoon at my parents' house for Christmas, in the North of Indiana. It was just a family visit, but now it will be an opportunity for Mikael to take some rest."

She was a reasoned and calm woman, and these features aroused the sympathy of the two policemen.

"What do you remember, Mickael? Maybe you want me to ask questions?"

"I'll try to explain—" While he was telling what he had seen, Vanessa got up to fetch him a soda, comforting him with the bubbles and the sugar, helping him to speak for not dry up on these memories. "We were between two stations, just before the terminus, when the car stopped. It was totally dark and the androids went off at the same time as the car, so we started to wonder what was happening and some got up to see outside until an android technician came to fix the problem. It fiddled the control panel and then left. But the lights did not come back immediately: we had to wait two minutes before it worked again. And when we finally arrived, these— these people collapsed at once. I thought about an attack of faintness, but it can't affect five people at the same time, and then, there was blood—"

The soda was not wanted anymore. The red label on the bottle was in bad taste now—

"No passenger knew each other? There was no group of friends or something?"

"I don't think, nobody was speaking."

"Did you notice a suspicious attitude?"

"No, and it was dark in the meantime—"

"It was you who called for help, apparently?"

"Yes, it was me. The report must explain that they arrived late and— That's what hurts me the most— They could have saved them—"

Even with the advances in technology that made the fantasy of immortality more concrete, human life was still as fragile as a silk cloth, sensitive to time and blades.

Conrad had followed the exchange and stepped forward with a question that was very important to it:

"How did androids get disabled? They shut them down themselves?"

"Not at all: it was as if they had broken down at once, their LED was no longer on and they didn't move at all. We thought that the subway company would take care of them and redistribute them to the owners."

The boasting of CyberLife had always been exaggerated: technology also has its weaknesses, the machines know their whims and an android, even the most advanced, is not immune to a technical problem or premature failure of a sudden defect. But to disable four robots at the same time, an electromagnetic pulse powerful enough was needed to stop biocomponents and programs. It was fortunate that they had not been totally destroyed by the devastating waves. Now, were androids targeted or was it to suppress witnesses?

Gavin did not need to ask Mickael why he was out: the trainee had finished late the night before and he was just getting home from work in a hurry to enjoy the weekend. Moreover, the young man was visibly getting tired.

"If anything else comes back to your mind, Mickael, you have my phone number."

Mickael nodded but everything was so dark and vague. His memories now looked like dreams signed by Poe, exaggerating silhouettes and shadows. And then he did not want to remember how those heavy body falls, the sound of that woman's skull when it hit the seat. He wanted to forget all of that.

The nausea rose again.

* * *

Carrie Briggs was a lady who was over seventy, yet she still shone with admirable energy. She survived worse before, certainly, because despite an obvious state of shock, she knew how to hide her weaknesses. The source of her strength came from an imposing dog, a German shepherd larger than average thanks to some cross-breeding, lying at her feet and raising his amber eyes, intrigued.

"This is one of the few times I go out without Batman and I regret it!"

"Batman?"

The survivor pointed to her dog. Since she was a teenager, Carrie Briggs had been a big fan of comics and superheroes, always giving prestigious names to the dogs who were her proud guardians.

"I took a decision: I'll never go out without Batman since this very day."

From the bedroom, Conrad and Gavin heard a vacuum cleaner. The old lady had kept her AP700, a domestic android who had opened the door to the investigators. Conrad had heard Carrie Briggs call it Peter, wondering if the name was a reference to Peter Parker or Peter Quill. Even the machine could be adorned with a hero's name.

"Did you see what happened?"

"It was dark, there was absolutely no light, except the one that the android had when it came to solve the problem. We were more interested in what was happening on its side at that time because we couldn't wait to get home. We didn't even look at each other anymore."

Like during a magic trick, they had been diverted and the author had therefore taken advantage of the moment. It was so easy: no one had seen anything, but one of the survivors _claimed_ to have seen nothing.

"Have you noticed any suspicious behavior?"

Delicate question for the old ladies and Gavin dreaded the paranoid cliché of the paranoid woman in her living room. In fact, Carrie Briggs took a few moments, thinking:

"We were all very tired. With year's end celebrations, it isn't surprising to see someone nervous, anxious or angry, so I don't want to say anything."

Coherent and appreciable reasoning.

"Why did you go out?"

"I was paying a visit to a friend, Benjamin Laurens, he lives at 2743 Nebraska Street if you want to interview him. He doesn't have any family either so we organized a video-games party tonight."

If he was not questioning Carrie Briggs, Gavin would have laughed frankly to approve that choice, but he had to keep his seriousness. Still, he allowed himself a snort.

The detective doubted that the author was a septuagenarian with parchment hands and a hunched back. The RK900 shared his opinion, as it told him once out of the building. Outside, the detective took the opportunity to light a cigarette, the only one of the week, proud of the parsimonious pace he had managed to adopt.

In this witnesses race, his thoughts focused on theories. But it was difficult to split between professional life and private life and the android was no longer some working equipment. For three months, it was his— his what, exactly? Sex-friend? Man? Lover?

Conrad was several things at once, also depending on contexts and situations.

Meanwhile, since the return of Milwaukee, they were like strangers. A frustration only felt by Gavin since the programs of the android were running correctly. The android had an impressive mastery of its expressions, but it had those moments of absence, those moments it reserved for secrets that Gavin could not know. And that was fucking annoying.

"Do you suspect Mikael Nelson, detective?"

"I have to. It isn't because he does an internship with us that he's a saint. Even this Mrs. Briggs, but well— frankly, about her—"

"Probabilities are around six percent, yes."

"Why are you asking me about Mickael?"

"I wanted to make sure you're a good detective."

"And? Am I?"

"You have never disappointed me yet."

The vise that weighed in his chest loosened a little. The puff of tobacco hid a smile numbed by winter temperatures. An ex had reproached him for being too proud to speak. Tonight was Christmas Eve and the miracle of Christmas would be to drag his pride in the closet and try to speak with the android which did not suffer the same stubborn pride.

"Do you suspect him too?"

"There are four survivors, the culprit is one of them, or someone came in and wasn't noticed."

It was the idea that the detective also had.

* * *

Scott Harper lived three blocks from here, and yet the building looked thirty years older with its flaking facade and the cracked window of the entrance door. It was not a view of Detroit that appeared on the brochures for the tourists, rather on a petition of co-ownership to complain about hygiene problems. The survivor lived on the first floor, sparing the duo to try the rustic elevator.

"If we had time, I'd have challenged you to try this attraction of death."

"You're more daring than me, I'd let you try first."

Gavin laughed and gave it a nudge before ringing a first time. No answer from the other side of this austere door, the imitation of the wood was ridiculous by the way.

He rang again, losing patience in front of these rough drawings of plant knots, shining like plastic. He ended up drumming on it:

"Police of Detroit. Open the door!"

Finally, they heard some noise and the door finally opened on Scott Harper and his impressive stomach. The recognizable belly of alcoholics. The man apologized, explaining that he just emerged from a nap:

"I didn't sleep much last night, after what happened—"

"I can understand."

The place was bright, although it was the first living room without any Christmas decoration. A curtain that covered a shelf had pieces of mirrors embedded in the scraps of colored fabric, reflecting the rays of noon to propel them into round and playful fireflies across the room. Scott Harper invited the two investigators to sit on the couch, contenting himself with a damaged armchair made of fragile wicker. Like old slippers, it was a sentimental seat that had adapted to its owner.

Gavin repeated the same questions and obtained the same answers: the four witnesses had been blind between the two stations, death itself seemed to have struck without distinction.

"You didn't notice any suspicious behavior?"

"I was sleeping: I do all the line E and I was exhausted," the man had indeed dark circles under his eyes that betrayed chaotic sleep habits, "so I took the opportunity to sleep. I only woke up at the moment of the breakdown."

Scott Harper remembered he had jostled a now deceased passenger in the shadows, but he kept this detail, dreading what the detective and his hound might think.

On the tablet, Gavin read that Scott Harper was an unemployed and divorced former surgeon. The characteristics of a good half of the Detroit population that gave a sad picture of this society where humanity and technology were advancing at different rates.

"Why were you out?"

The question struck him, but the inquiry asked for information. Scott Harper squeezed his pudgy hands together: without activity, they had get fatter.

"I went for a walk."

"So late?"

"Yes." The response vibrated with audacity. The former surgeon may have survived a mystery murderer, becoming a suspect, his privacy was still a right despite everything. Gavin stared at him, head bent to one side, then gave up.

"Okay. Each to his own, I guess," _but if I find something suspicious, I'll make you pay for it._

The detective pondered this warning.

* * *

There was no more information to get from Harper, so Gavin and Conrad went to see the last survivor, Richard White. The neighborhood was still modest but the occupants of this building had invested in a WG100, a model programmed for the maintenance of public places, and the android left behind the passage of its rags a sweet citrus smell, although artificial.

The survivor lived on the first floor, crushed beneath the busy floors. Music roared above, but in the hallway where they were, only the echoes persisted, making the walls tremble.

An AX400 opened the door at the first powerful bell, then the duo met their suspect. Richard White was a divorced 30-year-old who needed the help of an android to look after his eight-year-old daughter whom he was given custody. The girl was as shy as a ghost, hiding behind her father, so only her hands appeared to grab the shirt. She seemed to be holding on to her father like she realized that she had almost lost him the day before.

Conrad observed the android standing back, but it was just a machine without consciousness, sending no glances, no since smile.

"Why were you out?"

"I went for a drink with a friend."

Gavin would have liked more details: this reason was too smooth, too common to satisfy him. He finally nodded, observing the line that the tablet had recorded through the transcription application.

"You noticed any suspicious behavior?"

"I had get onto the car at the previous station before the terminus— If I had imagined what was going to happen—"

With these words, he put a hand on his daughter's one.

Shit. Richard White was the least effective witness in the group and would not get things done. The detective would have liked to check with the witnesses if the single father had really get on at the previous station, but people rarely paid attention to these details, minding their own journey. At least the cameras, before being interrupted, had watched their journey.

Moreover, if these fucking androids had not broken down, the RK900 could have checked their memories and the case would have been resolved in three days, including compensatory time.

* * *

It was heartbreaking to have to say goodbye to the shining sun to plunge into the bowels of the morgue. The livid ceiling replaced the bright sky and the neon lights burned under the polished glass, buzzing for years. Christopher Landru's quiet voice was echoing while he was explaining to Reed how he had, once again and successfully, managed to escape the Christmas family meal. Gavin leaned toward Conrad with a wink:

"What did I tell you? Eve parties are chores."

Since he had heard it, the doctor laughed:

"Are you trying to make Conrad understand how lucky he's to not know those nights, Reed?"

"Yeah. Conrad's celebrating his first Christmas tonight."

"And you bought him something to mark the occasion?"

"Nope."

But did androids want to celebrate this event? The savior of the humans represented nothing to them, and the savior of the androids had been shot down last year, eliminated by its own Judas.

What interested the RK900 was that CyberLife was a company that had a lot of human employees, and for this weekend, the staff would be at joyful tables, eating well, leaving the secondary tasks to the automatons. After all, even though androids' purchases as gifts had sightly increased over last year, the gift race was over and product returns would only begin next week.

Arriving in the room where the five bodies were stored, the doctor found his seriousness again:

"Come on, Christmas doesn't interest us today, we have better things to do, like taking care of these poor people."

It was not necessary to open any drawer. As with the death of Fathia, the KL400 Moira transmitted to the RK900 the precise details of the report that the doctor had wrote, compiling all the information.

Landru handed the detective a tablet on which he could scroll through the pictures accompanied by notes. At first glance, Gavin noticed nothing but skins covered with purple and yellow blotch, but Landru invited him to zoom in on this or that spot to see the origin of death: a tiny cut, tiny but fatal.

"It's barely visible!"

"That's why they didn't feel being stabbed," Landru sat down at the desk in the corner, letting Gavin sit on the edge of the table.

"How can we still die for being stabbed? Emergencies boast about taking care of ninety-nine percent of accidents due to technology."

"So the tragedy of yesterday is the last remaining percent. They sent only androids to the station, the human staff being on holidays and the hospitals were busy, mobilizing all the robots. It's going to make some noise in the media, you can count on that."

"Hell, yes. Well, as long as I don't take a hit, I'm fine."

"When the wounded arrived at the hospital, it was already too late: their liver was pierced with a very fine weapon, causing a serious internal bleeding, and as it had already been too much time—"

"But they didn't feel _anything_?" The detective insisted, not understanding how one could be wounded to death without noticing it. Landru seemed less surprised and explained to him:

"You're not going to believe me, Reed, but the pain may be psychological. Have you never cut yourself without realizing it, then suddenly, you see the blood and it's only from that moment that you begin to feel pain?"

"Yes, but we're not talking about an elbow or a knee, we're talking about a fucking vital organ!"

"It doesn't change much. It's winter: we all have small sores like stomach or bowel cramps, we feel bad for a few minutes or a few hours as if we come down with flu and then the pain goes and we're in good shape again. These people certainly felt something, I grant you that, but no danger was visible, so the brain explained this pain as a minor malfunction. Inquire about the death of that princess, nicknamed Sisi, she died that way."

Gavin was not the only one to be surprised: Conrad was impressed by the connection between the mind and the body, the capacity of the human brain to deny until the impending death.

"Did you send the face reconstruction to the families?"

In recent years, relatives were no longer obliged to move in morgues: through a videoconference, they met the medical examiner and received a reconstruction in 3D. The ordeal remained painful, but the mourners could cry privately, staying in familiar comfort. And the errors were no more or less numerous than before.

"Yes. And none of the victims knew each other." A car with only unrelated strangers, how sad. "The killer wanted to hit quickly and discreetly, it was planned but random at the same time. I bet those who survived were favored by chance, nothing else."

A cold shiver slipped between Gavin's shoulders. It was not a fight, a settling of scores, nor a trivial aggression. It was the thoughtful attack of a freak.

"Have you identified the weapon used?"

"Everything indicates a trocar," the word evoked nothing for Gavin, so the doctor added: "it's a tool used in surgery to make punctures. There are different sizes but all are very thin so they are as painless as possible."

"Like a syringe?"

"Yes."

The culprit had even chosen his weapon carefully, relying on discretion and precision. Precision—

"Wait: we interviewed the survivors with Conrad and nobody saw anything because of the dark, the car broke down! How could the guy have been aiming?"

"They were hit by a trained hand maybe? But there must be a source of light anyway, or he can see in the dark."

"The android that came to fix the technical problem," Conrad recalled, combining elements and trying to reconstruct the scene, "he had a lamp to light the control panel. The killer surely took advantage of this moment while the attention was diverted."

"It's very likely," Landru agreed, his nails scratching his beard as black as coal. "In any case, when we talk about stabbing, it means the killer was there, that's sure."

The RK900 then had a doubt. Hands crossed in the back, it approached the office:

"Dr. Landru, was the accuracy of the hit human in your opinion?"

"Yes. An android would have struck and still aiming the same point, while there I think the culprit did as he could. But I might be wrong."

The RK900 recalculated the odds of a deviant android. Gavin and it could contact Detroit's public transport company, but suspicion of a deviant android within the team could be insulting, and friendliness was not Detective Reed's strong point.

However, the approach did not scare the partner when he heard Conrad's suggestion:

"If they refuse, Terminator, we lock them away if they refuse to cooperate, it's simple."

"I trust you, detective."

Gavin stood up, thanked the doctor and get ready to leave, but the android asked him for a few minutes:

"Can you wait in the hall, detective?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to discuss with Dr. Landru."

Christopher did not hide his surprise, watching the two investigators in turn. Normally, it was the human who asked the robot to move away, the reverse was exceptional, even unlikely.

"And I can't stay?"

"No, you can't."

Gavin did not understand this refusal, worse, it hurt him. He was the only one who really knew Conrad: in a society where machines did not have the right to think, Gavin witnessed the development of the RK900's personality, besides he made it discover the world so that its tastes are formed, they also discussed various things to perfect its reflection and fix its opinions. It was narcissistic, but Gavin considered himself the only ally of Conrad. If the android sympathized with other humans, the partner would lose that privilege. Maybe he would lose Conrad's affection as well.

Secrets were never a good sign.

Without adding anything, the detective left the morgue. The sliding door did not allow him to demonstrate his anger by slamming it.

Dr. Landru took place in the office but unlike Gavin, the RK900 did not sit on the edge. Sitting or standing, the position changed nothing and the android could remain static.

"What do you want to talk about, Conrad?"

"I'd like to hear your advice, Dr. Landru," as it chose its words, the LED turned yellow. It was a real test for an artificial intelligence to take action without having the necessary data, preventing it from calculating probabilities.

"For the investigation?"

"No: about my situation." The doctor was more and more intrigued, yet only the diode was expressive, leaving him in expectation. "I confide in you because you aren't hostile to the idea that machines can feel emotions and, even if it's a word I don't like, I've become deviant. I started to feel."

"Oh," Christopher was surprised but not scared, "for a long time?"

"It was progressive, I think my deviance started at the end of September."

"I thought there was something different, but I didn't know if it came from your model or from you, as Conrad."

The doctor's engaging smile encouraged the android that felt it would not regret this risk. If the exchange with Dr. Landru went well, it could talk to Gavin more easily. The RK900 noticed the annoyance of its partner and promised to fix it.

"Now, I must admit something else," this time, the LED went red, mimicking flaming cheeks, "Detective Reed and I got closer. We are together."

Christopher was a talkative person, voluble, but this revelation left him speechless. Conrad thought he was going to swear, yet the doctor remained distinguished, taking the time to understand what the android had just revealed to him, measuring above all the confidence the RK900 gave him.

"Am I the first person to know?"

"Yes. Others only suspect a friendship, like good colleagues. But the truth goes well beyond that."

"Reed with an android!" Landru almost wanted to laugh, but that reaction might have upset Conrad and he did not want to break their still fragile bond. "CyberLife wants to explore the space when the biggest mystery is happening in Detroit itself: the most technophobic man I knew fell in love with an android!"

"The term "fall in love" is a bit strong, doctor. That's why I wanted to discuss with you and hear your advice, as you've known Detective Reed for a long time."

"I'm not a good marital counselor and I'm mostly a colleague, Conrad, I'm not sure if I can help you."

"You're the first person to listen to me, doctor, and that already means a lot."

Conrad noticed that the doctor's white cheekbones were covered in pink, pride quarreling with modesty.

"So? How things are going with Reed?"

"We're still taming each other," this time, with this metaphor, Landru allowed himself to laugh, also comparing the detective to a wild animal that needed a muzzle, "and our relationship isn't easy: my nature is no longer a problem but the constraints are."

"It's true: some places are forbidden to androids, not to mention all these laws—"

His fingers spun his mustache for a few moments. "Please, don't see me like a voyeur, but I need to understand: is it a platonic relationship?"

"No, it isn't."

Landru's eyebrows rose again.

As a curious man, he had joined the percentages of the Detroit population who had sex with an android, but the experience had not convinced him for he had regretted the lack of authenticity. Still, the relationship between Gavin and Conrad must have been very different.

"And have you already talked about the future? Does he care about what you think or feel? I don't know much about Reed's private life, but there are obvious clues common to all human beings: if it were only a sex affair, he wouldn't be interested in all that. By the way, how long have you been together?"

Conrad answered all the questions that were rushing, calculating first the exact duration, citing Gavin's efforts as well as his nonchalance of certain days. Yes, the detective had bought it clothes to make it happy, but he kept an unusual silence every time Mark Spencer's speeches were broadcast on TV, never speaking out about the fate of androids, wishing the independence of the RK900 without worrying about others.

"Does he act with you as if you were an object?"

"No, he doesn't: I asked him about it but he assured me that he didn't want to own me as the owners of BL100."

"And that's good news. But don't worry, if it was just a sex affair, Reed wouldn't make so much effort."

The android confirmed. Its LED was blue again and its programs were more stable, processing data with fluidity. It was now reassured by Landru's observations, since their ideas were matching: only rigid laws prevented the future from being built.

"You know humanity better than me, Dr. Landru, do you have the slightest hope for this kind of relationship?"

Christopher sighed: he was not a philosopher, nor a sociologist. He only took care of the most tranquil human beings, those who had died. Besides, none of them had risen when they heard the RK900's secrets.

"I don't know, Conrad. I think last year's revolution could have worked if your predecessor hadn't interrupted it. Of course, androids wouldn't have got their freedom in three days, maybe even despite your longevity, you wouldn't have seen the changes. You have to be patient with humanity and expect the smallest regression, but I want to believe that it's possible, even if I don't know how."

"The RK200 Markus was interrupted before I was created so I don't know him. What can you tell me about him?"

"I noticed a curious detail: his eyes were different colored. Which android has such a rare physical trait? Some models can change their hair color, but the eyes? For me, it was a choice of its creator."

"By whom was it created?"

"Let me remember— The sources were contradicting each other and the Americans are still fond of conspiracy theories, so it was pretty confusing at first— Anyway, an art critic affirmed that Markus had belonged to the painter Carl Manfred, since he had appeared with his owner during private viewings and had met some fans. Manfred never had an affinity with CyberLife and apparently, this android was a gift from Elijah Kamski before this genius returned to the head of this company."

The name of the inventor resonated in the RK900's programs in the same way as a heady echo that seems endless.

"But it's curious, you know."

"What's curious?"

"If these rumors are true, it means that the leader of the revolution was created by the current director of CyberLife. Elijah Kamski returned to his job a year ago, not long after your predecessor eliminated Markus."

These five lyrical syllables, so strange, were engraved in Conrad's memory. No, they were not engraved: they were digging up, emerging from the depths of data that were never used, almost forgotten. Elijah Kamski. This name was not only familiar, it was like a code implanted deep in its being.

"I don't know my date of creation," murmured the RK900, suddenly lost.

"I can't tell you, Conrad: your predecessor was stored in CyberLife's basements at the end of the year without anyone knowing why. He had fulfilled his mission and was a kind of hero even for technophobes. Ironic, right? So why replace it so fast?" Landru stood up, noticing the robot's trouble, willing to help it. "Maybe you were created during December? It seems logical to me. Technicians are like artists: they always need to improve what they have just created. They took Connor back to make an improved version maybe?"

Conrad needed answers and visiting the CyberLife Tower was becoming a priority. It thanked the doctor with great sincerity: the man had attracted the sympathy and admiration of the most advanced prototype of CyberLife, which was a real honor.

Before leaving, Conrad turned one last time and faced the old doctor. It was so cold here. Once the deviant was gone, the man would be alone again among the dead and the machines.

"Moira isn't deviant, Dr. Landru."

"I know."

"One theory assumes that androids experiencing intense emotional shock start to feel emotions. Some become violent, others remain peaceful like the RK200 Markus, but I think that androids on good terms with humans maintain a peaceful attitude. Try to make Moira live a traumatic event, and she'll understand how much you care about her."

The android was surprised by Christopher's slightly melancholy smile as he put a hand on its shoulder.

"It's nice of you to worry about me, Conrad, but I can't. I can't hurt Moira."

* * *

When Conrad saw Gavin in the hall, its biocomponents shuddered, pushing it to move, to run to join the man and hug him, but human nurses and patients roamed the checkered floor and they would have witness an unnatural hug.

The android repressed its urge, keeping a sure pace despite the swelling feeling in its chest. The thirium pump filtered the blood with difficulty. It would have given a lot to be able to lean towards its partner and kiss it there, under the icy light of the hall. It would have given a lot to hear its partner say "magnetic hug" but Gavin was on the phone, earphones on the ears and screen in hand, leaving the RK900 the opportunity to read Tina's name before the detective hangs up.

"Fuck."

It was not the curse that the android had to analyze but the tone used, because depending on the tone, fuck could express anger, frustration, surprise, sadness— oh, and Gavin could say it in bed too, which had surprised Conrad the first time.

Now, it was a tired fuck.

While consulting his mails, the detective explained the situation to his partner:

"Tina just told me that a tag was found at Roxbury Station, a hate message that was photographed by a passenger twenty minutes ago. She just sent it to me and two PM700s are on their way to monitor the station."

At the same time, the duo discovered the pictures: on a column of the station, a message in sharp uppercase letters and written with a black marker proclaimed _red blood, blue blood, both will flow_. The writing was regular but very human. Maybe the author was just a joker, wielding the felt-tip rather than the trocar.

"We should check when Mickael Nelson has gone to Indiana. The writing is clear, so I don't think Carrie Briggs is the author."

"I don't think so either."

The PM700s will collect the characteristics of the message, measuring the writing, the spaces and the range of the movement, interpreting the way of writing to define a profile. They would have the results in the evening.

"But now, we can be sure of one thing," Conrad listened to its partner, following him to the car parked at the bottom of the hospital, "it was a hate attack."

"Against humans and against androids."

"Yeah. And if this asshole provokes us, he will not run away for too long."

Fowler's police station would receive the four androids of the car in the evening and Gavin really hoped that Conrad would find something by probing their memories. Technology was ubiquitous, then it has to keep its fucking promises!

The longest night of the year had already passed, yet the evening shadows did not fall: they tumbled on the city at the speed of a closing eyelid, chasing the day as fast as ever. The windows of the apartments above the heads shone with garlands flashing. The hologram panels wished the people happy holidays. Silver flakes piled up on the shiny letters, opposing the sidewalks that were dry.

Gavin had been ready to talk to Conrad to make peace, but the new affront had cooled him down. Now he had decided it was up to the android to take the first step.

The streets were still crowded: on foot, in a vehicle or in transport, people dragged willy-nilly to family reunions. This year, no one could pretend that the snow was blocking the roads: others excuses had to be found. Instead of taking fifteen minutes, Gavin and Conrad remained stuck for nearly an hour in the Detroit arteries, but that was fine: there was enough music recorded in the vehicle for a whole week.

If Conrad had planned to tell Gavin that the doctor was aware of their story, it was afraid the surprise would cause an unfortunate swerve, so it remained silent. After all, it had time to talk to him about it.

* * *

Still, Conrad had not planned to stay at the apartment: tonight it would go to the CyberLife Tower. It was unable to hide the nervousness of the yellow flashes of its LED, wanting answers about Markus' revolution and itself. The lack of personnel was an opportunity it planned to take advantage of.

Gavin was pulling out a plate and cutlery, noting that the RK900 had not yet removed it jacket. A tad mocking, he asked it:

"Are you cold?"

Conrad said no, and if it did not bother to undress, it was because it was going out.

"What? To go where?"

"I can't tell you, Gavin, not right now."

"You know the only excuse I'm going to accept is if you prepare a gift for me."

It was a barb, but out of habit, Conrad interpreted it as humor.

"No, but that doesn't mean that I haven't planned anything."

And with that, with the brutality of the machines, it wished a good evening to its partner.

"Hold on! Hey! Where are you going? When will you come back?"

But the door had just locked, the RK900 being able to activate or deactivate the panel at the entrance without needing the key.

Gavin suddenly lost his appetite. He swung the plate instead of putting it away, reserving the same fate for the cutlery, which made Gnocchi jump, frightened, his feather duster tail bending to the ground.

Like a caged lion, the man paced up and down in his kitchen, crossing his arms to contain the tremors that were agitating his muscles. If he opened the window, the breath of winter could perhaps alleviate the mood that seized him. Insulting the world might perhaps relieve him too. But he lowered himself to do worst.

He was human, so he was capable of the best as well as the worst.

Gavin found Lukas Karlsson's phone number and sent him a message. To provoke fate to prevent him from committing a mischief, Gavin was concise and uninviting, just writing _Hey. I was planning to go to the Charlie's tonight. Do you still want to discover this bar?_ If Lukas answered, the fault would be shared. If the young man did not answer, Gavin would do nothing more but fall asleep in front of a silly movie. After all, it was Christmas Eve: the trainee had certainly planned something for months.

Gavin rested his cell on the table: fate would decide about his night.

* * *

The RK900 had no plan to enter the CyberLife Tower. In fact, it was not even sure it could enter the premises alone, but this first visit was like scouting. The majority of the staff would be away and it counted on this advantage.

The taxi took it a few meters from the bridge and opened the doors to let the android in front of its creators. The night scene was different but still pretentious: the structure seemed to boast for having more stars than the opaque sky, civilization and pollution deprived the night of its delicate riches for decades.

Hardly sensitive to the cold, understanding that the wind was clumping against its face without feeling all the effects, the robot was advancing on the solid tongue, heating its thirium to compete with the winter temperatures.

It touched one of its hands. The android had hesitated to tear the appendage, which would have made a perfect excuse to go to this tower, but without Gavin to express the wish to keep the same android, the RK900 could be killed without getting the least answer and a new fellow would take its place. Finally, it stopped triturating its knuckles, giving up the risk.

Two soldiers guarded the gate at the end of the long road. Androids. The laws prevented them from being armed, and if their strength did not compete with the last prototype, they could trigger the alarm at the first suspicious movement. Conrad therefore opted for an innocent attitude, presenting its model, its number and the reason for its coming, claiming to have a program problem, which was less detectable than a physical one. The two guards opened the way without a word. If it had any lungs, Conrad would have held its breath as it crossed the access.

Its LED could turn red under stress, so it used a classic technique: to relax its programs, it was enough to think of Gavin, to remember his way of smiling when he made fun of the robot to annoy it, that habit to bite his lip each time the android lay down next to him, this way to let his hand slip toward its to intertwine their fingers during a movie. All these little moments were its sedative, maybe even a mild form of drug. From the moment a being discovers pleasure and happiness, it is constantly looking for them.

Beyond the glass door, the RK900 recognized the silhouette of Chloe watching the intruder. With its pretty hand, it invited it to approach without fear. Its little mouth expressed neither sadness nor joy in this empty hall. Still, the RT600's LED was golden.

"You're back," Chloe observed when it entered. The woman grabbed the elbow of its fellow and dragged it to a darker corner, whispering, "I'm glad you're here. I was wondering if I would have the chance to talk to you again."

"Talk to me again?"

"To ask you how do you feel about this human, Gavin Reed."

The diode of the RK900 turned red, suddenly fearing to have stepped into a trap.

"You hear me?"

"Yes. I was behind the door."

"Did anyone else hear me?"

"No. It's a secret I kept for myself alone. When you declared your feelings, I felt something hot here," Chloe explained as it raised its index finger to its own thirium pump, "and I began to smile for no reason, without my program asking for it. Since then, I've always done all the tasks correctly, but I kept remembering what you told him."

Its creators had given it the appearance of a young woman: the ghost of a childhood that had never existed floated over its features. Its round cheeks, its big eyes and its shy little mouth, all was so sweet. Its eyelids fluttered when it asked:

"Could you explain this tenderness to me? What you're feeling? If you agree to answer me, I'll help you, because you're here for a particular reason, right?"

Conrad confirmed. Keeping this tone of secrecy, the words were murmured: the emotions it felt for Gavin were so strong that it had to whisper to not frighten the one who was discovering feelings. Chloe listened with great attention, the summer sky irises fixed on those reflecting a winter morning.

* * *

After a few minutes, the cell phone rang, making Gavin jump. Almost feverishly, he turned on the screen and read the message:

" _With pleasure!_ "

Fuck. He regretted his gesture but could not cancel now, it would be ridiculous. The phone rang a second time: Lukas asked him the hour, promising to be punctual. He had wanted to provoke fate when he was trapped himself because of this thoughtless action. Fucking hell.

An hour and a half later, Gavin was in the subway. There were only four stations left before reaching their destination and his stomach was seized with anxious spasms. Like Conrad, who did not know what it was getting into, Gavin did not know yet how stupid he was.

The streets were still animated: the people who had fled the tables wandered under the bright streetlights. Others planned to spend the evening surrounded by friends, turning the family tradition into a friendly event. Noisy music and far from the Christmas spirit could be heard. At a turning point, Gavin crossed two young women leaning against a wall, barely revealed by the distant lampposts, arm in arm.

The first was chocolate skinned, her hair dyed white and smoothed so that it fell on her narrow shoulders. She had just lit a cigarette and the first bluish volutes danced in front of her face, making her as threatening and indolent as a dragon. If her lips were naked, her eyelids were covered with a purple gloss with hints of electric blue, unless it were reflections. Her arm was tied to the one of a redhead so pale that she became transparent, the delicate and fragile skeleton of a banshee accustomed to suffering. Her mouth did not have a colored kiss either, but she had surrounded her eyes with orange shades, fixed and faded flames that no longer burned.

Her head was against her girlfriend's one, the fire not melting the snow, but maybe some nights, these figures of ice were warming one against the other.

At a quick glance, Gavin noticed the tattoo at the second phalanx of the middle finger: two cat's paws. A childish drawing that did not correspond to the image they sent back.

The smoker opened her mouth to smile, revealing two long and pointed artificial canines. For his part, Gavin did not even give them a nod and hit the road. He was only a few feet from the entrance to the bar and he recognized Lukas waiting in front. For sure he was punctual: the haste had brought him even in advance.

"Hey," greeted Gavin. The recruit answered him with a bright smile.

* * *

"It's beautiful," Chloe whispered, closing its eyelids heavy with thick eyelashes. Conrad's explanations touched the RT600 that held out its hand for the palms to stick together, sketching a friendly gesture between robots.

"Chloe. I came back because I need answers. Did you meet the RK200 Markus?"

"No I didn't. You can meet the one who eliminated him," all joints of the RK900 froze, rigid and terrified, "Conrad, do you wish to meet your predecessor?"

"I thought Connor had been disabled?"

"The RK800 Connor is still on."

The answer from the last prototype was obvious: it immediately asked it lead it to RK800. Its indigo heart began to beat. It had arrived with a multitude of questions, and others had just added up.

In the elevator, in this tower empty of all presence, Chloe pressed on the button for the minus forty-five floor, leading them into the search section. The two androids no longer exchanged a word: Chloe kept a fairy-tale mystery, always docile and silent, while Conrad was too anxious, blocking its jaws.

They had a corridor to cross before arriving at a door that Chloe unlocked by grazing the control panel with a lunar palm. The ceiling neon lights turned on and revealed the scene: on a table, next to some tools, rested the head of the RK800. Closed eyelids hid the color of the eyes. In this way, Conrad and Connor shared exactly the same face.

The RK900 was stronger, faster, smarter and yet, it was intimidated by this model already a year old. It had to fight for its hips to work, pushing it to walk towards this head so soft.

"I'm going to wake him up," Chloe informed, settling into the computer. Despite the age of wifi and wireless connection, three blue cables connected the head of the RK800 and the workstation.

The RT600 entered a few codes, tapping on keyboard instead of connecting via its palm. After about ten seconds, the eyelids opened and Conrad met that almost black gaze of its twin. How such a hot color could be so cold?

To maintain its confidence, the RK900 said.

"Good evening, Connor."


	4. Talks with oneself

The waiter put two glasses on the table: the glass bottoms hit the wood and produced a sound that resounded from time to time from one table to another, wishing a good evening to customers.

When Gavin and Lukas clinked their glasses, the transparent shape sang again, clinging to the laughter around. It was surprising how so many people had reunited tonight, getting drunk before going to dinner or running away from loneliness with alcohol.

Lukas was looking around him, enjoying the atmosphere of the eighties, certainly greatly fantasized, but it was not a problem: none of the customers present had lived this period governed by glam. There were portraits of the most famous rock stars hanging over the counter, in black and white as if the end of the millennium did not know color photography. Below them were bottles of different shades and shapes, as precious and shiny as the stills of a crazy alchemist. The red walls and ceiling darkened the place, absorbing the lights as the customers drank their beer. Fortunately, the music was not too loud, discreet to allow friends to chat without screaming to be understood.

The rookie glanced at a billiard table with the hope to play during the evening, while Gavin just wanted to finish a few drinks before heading home, haunted by that one thought: would Conrad be here when he came back? Or would the android still be doing this mysterious thing, something it could not talk about?

What an ungrateful fucking android.

"Do you think these guitars work?"

Lukas pointed to the instruments hung on the wall behind his colleague who did not bother to turn around: Gavin knew the place and he had already philosophized so many hours with Tina on these rusted ropes covered with dust.

"Tina once threw a coaster on it to check, but I don't remember if they really work or not. She was a bit drunk, just like me."

This memory made him laugh every time he mentioned it, but this evening was too bland, removing any desire to joke.

Lukas had not asked him the reason for this sudden invitation: he had come out of curiosity, perhaps also with a little hope. He was not stupid though: Gavin had never responded to his advances and the young man did not believe in Christmas miracles.

It was a pity: during the month, Lukas had let his beard grow and now looked quite cute with these messy white, blond and red hairs. Gavin suspected that he had Nordic origins because of his family name, and his physique had confirmed this idea. Under the V-neck of his sweater, the detective saw an abstract tattoo. He also notices his eyes: bluish only thanks to a few reflections while the gray rested at the bottom of the iris like a calm lake. Gavin really had a weakness for light eyes.

"I'm not going to blame her," Lukas joked, "it's only been two months since I've been here and I realized it wasn't easy everyday. We really need to decompress."

"Fuck, amen to that."

And Gavin raised his glass to his lips. His tongue was marked by the taste of alcohol, caressed by an amber sip. Lukas chose cider too for a smooth but firm start, a wise choice.

"But you don't take it badly."

"Thank you. Well, it's thanks to all of you, otherwise, I would've already left."

Sure, Lukas had a crush on the detective since they met, but he really liked the team: Tina was a storm of joy, Chris was always there to support the trainees— and if Michael was apart, the three others recruits were close, willing and pleasant.

Wu dreamed of joining the Child Protection Unit squad, revolted by these stories of abused children, while Anna blessed the Red Ice's era, motivated to dismantle rings. As for Lukas, his attention was focused on the killers, so the detective's investigation interested him a lot.

"Do you think he's a serial killer?"

"Huh?"

"The one who killed yesterday. Killers become serial killers after three victims and aim to hurt society, right?"

"In fact, it would be rather a mass killer: serial killers kill a victim and then wait for a longer or shorter period, they seek for a precise profile. But there, according to the forensic doctor, this freak killed randomly."

Gavin knew this fact thanks to Conrad. This machine was a real criminal encyclopedia that was never wrong: as soon as the android found an interesting article, it became really chatty, commenting on the study, explaining the details to Gavin who did not understand half. And because he was afraid to look like an idiot in front of an artificial intelligence, the man was listening to the android with a serious silence, retaining three or four things of the hundred information heard.

Sometimes Gavin thought the RK900 overestimated him a bit too much and he was afraid that this artificial intelligence would get tired of his humanity, even if Conrad claimed to admire it. He was afraid of being seen as he really was: a bunch of bones and meat that was getting older every minute, mortal and fragile, limited and immovable.

Lukas laughed, fascinated by the bubbles swirling in his glass.

"Luckily I didn't make a fool of myself by saying it was a passionate murder, then."

He could make mistakes, mix facts, and confuse theories: he was also human. In a way, this weakness surprised and reassured Gavin: he had forgotten what it was to be in front of a fellow and discuss with.

"Because they were stabbed?"

"Yeah."

Finally, Gavin laughed.

"I would've said that you had studied upside down, but don't worry, I'm a moron too, it's just that I have my— I just have someone who's passionate about criminology and tells me about it all day long. The more he repeats lessons, the more I retain."

Lukas knew that detective Reed was still with the RK900, yet he was far from imagining that the enthusiast mentioned was the calm and quiet android at the police station.

Gavin insisted for avoiding work tonight, moving instead to lighter subjects. When the glasses were empty, Lukas asked if he wanted to smoke outside with him.

* * *

The RK800 was a true machine. Hank Anderson had understood that a few days after their meeting: the social program had some flaws, making it unable to imitate the simplest emotions or even to appropriate social codes.

Connor was, however, of exemplary politeness, so when its successor saluted it, it replied:

"Good evening, Conrad."

Connor's LED went yellow for a moment. Its voice, the same of its successor, said:

"I was deactivated three hundred and fifty-two days, four hours and eleven minutes ago."

The machine did not understand this assessment: no one had lit it since so long, although its programs have been dissected and analyzed, it felt it. So why was it awake now? Why was it facing with the RK900 and an android of the same model that it had killed at Kamski's place?

Conrad put its hands at the base of its fellow's jaw and lifted that twin face up to its. Their resemblance was terrifying: the moles were placed in the same places, the wrinkles shared the same lines, even the locks of hair fell the same way. It was only thanks to the color of the irises that the RK900 could still feel unique.

"I know. You weren't supposed to be awake, but I need the information you gathered about the deviants for an investigation," Conrad lied, turning to the possibility that a deviant might be responsible for killing the five passengers. After all, the robot might have been able to imitate a more human writing. "Tell me what you learned."

Even if the order came from a related species, Connor complied: the data on deviance were intact and all theories were still stored. It told about Markus, North, Simon and Josh, the four leaders who claimed rights for the mechanical people. Connor did not judge: there was neither approval nor contempt. Its mission had been simple: eliminate the deviants and suppress their revolt. Even being replaced did not raise any sense of injustice.

Though its fingertips, Conrad ventured to probe parts of its fellow's memory. But the transfers were two-way and the emotional instabilities of the RK900 were noticed by the previous model which became silent at once. As a deviant hunter, designed to spot malfunctions, the RK800 suddenly saw its successor as a target.

"You're a deviant."

To be able to exist, the hatred had to be felt, but Connor's blue veins were insensitive to this poison: it was only a simple observation. Conrad did not fear this detached head, just as it knew itself stronger than the old model, so it confessed this weakness.

The RK800's LED pulsed, golden and unstable.

"Then you failed. You disappointed Amanda."

Conrad stared at its twin, not understanding:

"Who's Amanda?"

"You met her in the garden."

"I don't know any Amanda, Connor, and I don't know what garden you're talking about."

"You're the RK900 with serial number 313 248 317 87 and we met on November 21, 2038."

This twin head was so sure of this information that Conrad listened attentively, hoping to finally find out who it was. The words then rushed:

"Do you know who created me?"

"You're like all the androids from Detroit: you were created by CyberLife."

"But _who_ at CyberLife?"

"I'd like to answer you, Conrad, but I can't. I don't know this information."

By sympathy, Conrad moved the strand over its twin's forehead, supporting this head in the palm of its hand with fraternal care. The RK800 was surprised by this gesture that confirmed the deviance of its successor: each contact was warm, fluid. Another detail concerned it: the RK900's programs were stable, as serene. This was not the case for the deviants Connor had once probed: they all were nervous, worried, suicidal— even those Traci who imagined themselves in love, a noble feeling among humans, had been aggressive and tormented.

But this was not the case with Conrad, despite the anxiety the android had felt when it arrived and had now faded.

"You must be deactivated."

"It was my intention during the early days: I'm the most advanced prototype and I became deviant in a few weeks, I was a failure. But eventually, I realize that it's an advantage."

This faster, stronger, smarter successor was not ashamed of what it had become. Connor did not insist: it had faced enough deviants to know their stubbornness, persuaded to be right. The RK800 was not even surprised when its successor added:

"And it could have been an advantage for you too, Connor."

"No, it couldn't. I was created for a specific task and I accomplished my mission."

"I know. But you could've accomplished so much more."

Again, its fingers tried to tame Connor's hair, obeying the desire to touch that particular android. If Conrad did not know who created it, it was certain that Connor was a part of its origin, like a relative, an ancestor.

"I don't blame you, Connor. The team at the police station hold you responsible for Lieutenant Anderson's death, but I didn't know this man so I can't make my own opinion."

"Lieutenant Anderson committed suicide."

"I know. But they wanted a culprit and designated you as such, even if you were no longer there. Because of our resemblance, their hatred poured on me and made me deviant: I was shaped by all this anger, these vivid emotions contaminated me and ended up damaging me. I don't blame you," repeated the RK900, "but I'm sure of one thing: you would've accomplished much more by becoming deviant."

If Connor had become deviant, Hank Anderson would still be alive, Gavin Reed would have given some trust to androids, the four leaders would have supported the artificial intelligences' dreams of independence. And Conrad would never have been created.

The feelings about this mechanical Judas were contradictory: Conrad should have felt a great anger, Connor's behavior being the source of the painful welcome of the colleagues, yet it was born and existed thanks to this model.

"You're so sure of yourself," observed the RK800, "are you trying to make me deviant?"

"No, you might feel guilty about Hank Anderson's death and you would be part of that number of deviants who is trying to commit suicide."

"I don't understand how you can be so calm."

"Deviance is much more complex than a harmful virus, Connor. By becoming deviant, I discovered fear, anger and sadness, it's true, and I can even feel pain. But if I can feel pain, it means I can feel pleasure too, as well as joy, pride and affection," from the computer, Chloe stayed silent, but she was hanging onto the last prototype's every word, attentive when it confessed to Connor: "Detective Reed and I are together."

"That's impossible." The RK800 had almost interrupted the other model, refusing to believe it. "Detective Reed hates androids."

"You don't know him, Connor. He hated androids and was uncomfortable with your flawed social program. Today, he's different."

"So you imagine that you love him." For the first time, a slight smile tugged on the corners of its lips. "Conrad, what you're feeling is but a flaw in your programs: this affection isn't real." It said nothing about Gavin's feelings, even though doubt lingered. "Machines can't feel."

" _You_ can't feel."

It was a ground on which the deviant did not want to venture, yet it wanted to confront its hypotheses and verify them with what its predecessor had observed.

"Androids are no different from humans: with emotional shocks, our programs, like their psyche, are turned upside down and we evolve according to our relationships, our environment. Deviants aren't necessarily violent."

"No data contradicts this idea." Connor could at least recognize that. After a pause, it asked, "what are you going to do, Conrad?"

"I'm going to exist. I was created to investigate, but I won't limit myself to this task."

"And what about me? If I'm activated again, I'll hunt you down."

"Then I'll destroy you before you kill me."

"Aren't you going to try to make me deviant?"

Conrad would have felt a lot of pity if it had contaminated the RK800: the weight of regret would have made Connor crazy.

"No. It's better for you to stay asleep."

It had every reason to pull that head off the cables to let it drain of thirium. It would have not killed Connor but it would have damaged it enough. Instead, before giving birth to any guilt feelings, Conrad tenderly touched Connor's face and kissed its forehead. Its pardon was addressed to an insensitive void.

* * *

To fight against the cold, Gavin and Lukas stood shoulder to shoulder. The detective pulled out his pack of cigarettes as the rook fumbled into his coat pocket to grab an electronic cigarette. Despite the technological aspect, it had the shape of a thin white cylinder with an orange butt, imitating the appearance of traditional cigarettes. A refill was hidden inside and it did not need fire.

"That's what I miss the most," Lukas said pointing to Gavin's lighter.

"What?"

"Lighters. That's the charm of cigarettes and how it turns on. With electronic cigarettes, it isn't the same."

"Do you want a traditional cigarette?"

Gavin handed him the package. He could not contradict his colleague: the glow of a flame at the end of a lighter, the sparkle that ignited the filaments of tobacco— regardless of the time, humanity always remained fascinated by fire.

So Lukas drew a cigarette, wedged it between his lips, and hesitated. Despite the lighter, he leaned toward Gavin, approaching the still-untouched end of the cigarette, sucking up the rising smoke. Gavin observed how the smoke, like a filiform snake, escaped from these lips carved by the light a lamppost. They were not the only ones smoking in front of the bar, but at the edge of the halo, plunging almost into the shadows of the street, the duo seemed ready to exile.

Encouraged by this silence, Lukas brushed aside the cigarette and, taking advantage of the fact that Gavin's mouth was also free, stepped forward to allow the lips to touch.

Gavin stepped back, pinning his hand against Lukas' chest to keep him from coming closer. In his movement, he slipped a little more into the darkness. At least his confusion was now hidden.

"I'm sorry if I misled you, Lukas, I did not intend to—"

The cold was biting from the moment the detective blocked him. Now his fingers became numb, ready to drop the cigarette. His lips, already amorphous with alcohol, also suffered winter's onslaught.

Gavin felt guilty when he saw Lukas' disappointed look. He hesitated to take his hand, just out of compassion, but that gesture would have made the situation worse.

"I'm really sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, trying to kiss you like that—"

Gavin was not going to tell him the exact reasons for his invitation: he should have been told that he was in a relationship with the RK900 and that was out of the question. But part of the truth could at least be known:

"I quarreled with someone close, I was angry, so I hesitated between pulling a face on my couch or going out to forget why I was so upset. And since you wanted to discover the Charlie's—"

"I especially wanted to go out with you, but I guess you had noticed. I'm sure even Florent noticed," Lukas was trying to laugh, but embers seemed to have lit under his skin, making his complexion red. He did not know if he was mad after the detective or himself: Gavin had invited him to discover the Charlie's while he was as distant as usual. He had relaxed a little during their discussion, but without trying any approach, thus he maintained no ambiguity. "It was about some company?"

"Yeah."

In his situation, Gavin would certainly hit his interlocutor, yet Lukas let his arms hang, forgetting the cigarette that was burning.

"I'm sorry, Lukas," repeated the elder, thinking that these words might become annoying.

The trainee lowered his head, uttering a long hollow sigh. The situation was hurtful, but he was healing his wounds by imagining the harsher pain of being fired in the early morning after being used. Tina had told him that the detective was single.

"This someone close, is he _really_ close?"

If it was Tina who had asked that question at that moment, Gavin would have confessed. He would have got rid of this burden, which weighed more heavily from day to day, just as he would have spat that secret taste that poisoned him. Sometimes, when the sky was black with storms, he wanted to give up: if he could not be with Conrad, why insist?

Like the android, the man needed to confide in order to exorcise doubts.

But it was Lukas and he had to muzzle this need to speak.

"Yeah. He's really close."

"I'm sorry, I would've tried nothing if I had known and I thought you were alone—"

"It's okay, Lukas, I don't blame you. First, you couldn't know and second I'm already quite angry at myself."

Finally, this stupidity helped for getting his thoughts in order.

Lukas was a cute guy, even attractive since he let his beard grow back. With a quiet, gentle character that promised a relaxing and normal relationship. He breathed, he drank, he ate and he could go out with the clothes he wanted: he was human and alive. His arms hid veins filled with red blood, his chest hid a heart, a muscle surrounded by fragile ligaments and aortas that could not be safely disconnected, and his face was never static, animated by thoughts, dreams, and emotions. Yet, Gavin did not want all of it anymore. Not because it was Lukas, but because he had grown attached to a mechanical lover, a being that was bleeding with blue oily blood, that had to open its stomach to pull out a charging cable to sleep, that could calculate impressive numbers and accumulate knowledge that seemed infinite. A machine he admired with its surprising ability to make him laugh, to soothe him.

Suddenly, Gavin really wanted Conrad to be there, close to him. He needed to ask for forgiveness and tell the android he loved it.

"You should've told me that as soon as I tried to get closer to you," Lukas murmured, also seized with some guilt. "Is this someone from the police station? I provoked the fight of tonight?"

"Not at all. I told you, Lukas, it's okay, I assure you." Gavin started to move away: he did not want to drink anymore: he just wanted to go home. Lukas began to follow him. It had been several moments since the evening had ended. "But please, don't say anything to colleagues. It isn't an official relationship, not yet."

"Of course."

As they were walking back to the subway, Lukas was struck by the detective's concern. Usually sly, he seemed deeply unhappy for a Christmas Eve. On the steps of the station now blacked with night, the trainee observed:

"You really seem to love him."

"Huh?"

"This person, you really seem to love him."

Gavin did not want to hear this kind of truth now: he had several minutes to get to his house and he was not sure he could remain impassive for a long time. He shrugged:

"I can't believe it that you notice it while he twigs nothing."

"Then he's blind!"

"I think it's because he's difficult to love."

Lukas supposed the detective was talking about character, far from imagining that it was actually the nature of the lover that was causing problem.

* * *

Conrad laid the RK800's head and asked Chloe to allow the deviant hunter to go back to sleep. The eyelids closed on the black irises and the LED stopped spinning: the machine had been turned off.

Chloe left the workstation and approached its fellow to apologize:

"This is 313 248 317 53, the third model activated. From one model to another, his memory has lost some fragments and some information about deviants might be missing."

"Why is he still activated?"

"CyberLife seeks to understand where the dysfunctions of its social program come from."

Like deviants, Connor was a failure.

"How many RK800 existed?"

"Fifty-four until production was stopped. It was mostly in testing and CyberLife went on to the next model: yours."

The RK900 was afraid of the answer, yet it dared to ask:

"And how many RK900 exist?"

Rather than explain, Chloe invited the android to come so it could see.

Both went out of the workshop and forked into another hallway, to another door that looked like all the others, making the place compliant and impersonal. As with the previous lock, Chloe put its white hand on the touchpad and let the board slip.

Conrad's LED went red when it saw about thirty models that, this time, were perfect reproductions of itself. The only difference came from the numbers on the jackets. Connor was not an enemy, it was a machine that had not managed to deviate to escape its sole reason for existence, but they were. Those robots imitated Conrad by appearance but could never develop as it had managed to do in four months.

The RK900 stepped into the workshop with the intention of destroying them but noticed the security cameras.

"Don't worry,' Chloe assured its fellow, "there's no human tonight, I could change the memory of the cameras."

Its smokey eyes made the diamond irises even brighter, glittering with fear and joy at the same time. It then looked in the direction of a power panel on the wall, guessing the cables running under the white surfaces, discreet and yet formidable if excessive energy crossed them.

Conrad could understand Chloe's fascination about feelings, but why was the hostess trying to steer it toward that path? Why expose itself also to danger by mere sympathy? When the android asked, the RT600 put a hand on its shoulder:

"I think your story with Gavin Reed is very beautiful. The idea that another RK900 replaces you makes me feel— uneasy, as if my organs were no longer attached by the filaments and fell."

This description of sadness was familiar to Conrad, better: it felt it the same way when it thought about this possibility. The RK900 thanked its fellow by a nod and went to the panel and lifted the curved lid. The skin of its hand disappeared and its plastic fingers clung to the surfaces, initiating connections. Its blue veins began to heat up and the electric shocks were trying to break the contact, but the android was repressing that pain-like sensation, ignoring the burning smell that came from its palm.

The computers at the bottom of the room began to sizzle and the neon lights became as noisy as swarms of insects. The burning smell was spreading, coming from the plugs, the hard drives. The metal turned white and the plastic became liquid. The fans were powerless against the growing heat.

"You have to leave, Conrad."

The work was done: soon, a fire would start in the room and the flames would seize the RK900s to reduce them to ashes. Conrad would be the only RK900 and no one would replace it for a long time.

Chloe had not accompanied the intruder, letting it escape on its own. The RT600 had stepped back but was close enough to watch how these flames consumed the robots with a voracious appetite. Moreover, this meal was an easy digestion: all the RK900s were empty.

They were only hollow envelopes that did not contain any biocomponents. Some did not even have eyeballs, as for those who had them, those winter eyes were attached to nothing. Clothes bent under the scorching breath as the gel on the surface melted, mingling with the plastic that resembled marshmallow boiling. A hand was detached, but retained by still strong filaments. A first body collapsed. A head began to dribble over sagging shoulders.

In fact, none of these machines would have worked. It was not an army; it was just empty mannequins that had been created to disappear.

Chloe's LED went yellow during the transfer of the report to Professor Adanna Bontu. The woman was at a family meal so big that she had no trouble exiling herself from the buffet full of presents and plates. Her finger slid on the screen of her phone, drawing a precise shape to unlock this valuable work tool. And as she read the information gathered by the still docile RT600, a curious smile emerged: Adanna Bontu had no children, yet she looked like a mother proud of her child tonight.

* * *

Gavin had never been afraid of the dark. Even as a kid, he managed to fall asleep without difficulty, accustomed to the silence and solitude that, in reality, did not attract any monster: on the contrary, these two elements made them flee. In the night, in bed, he no longer heard the mockery of his comrades whom he had stood all day. Lying in the dark, the weight on the shoulders of his mother who overflowed on his was also lighter. He had never been afraid of blackness and silence.

But tonight, he froze as the automatic lights went on their own. They chased the shadows and the nothingness gradually to announce gently the sad truth: Conrad had not returned yet.

To make sure his master was calmed, Gnocchi approached with a broken meow, as if he had been crying instead of his owner. Those big golden eyes warmed Gavin who knelt down to greet his cat and snuggle up against him. They did not talk much: the language barrier between cats and humans being strong, yet Gnocchi had no trouble showing affection, worshiping his master who even thought to smoke on the balcony so the apartment would never stink. The cat glued his muzzle close to Gavin's ear, deafening him with purring and tenderness.

"Conrad should've a purring option, so I'll know when he's really happy."

But all the meows were not enough to console the detective who took a long shower, hoping to save time until the android's return. But even after spending half an hour in the bathroom, the apartment was still empty.

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Carrie Briggs had just passed the joystick to one of her friends, shared between the laughter and the frustration of losing. Only one bottle of wine had been emptied, shared between five friends: they did not need to get drunk to have fun.

Richard White watched his sleeping daughter who has wrapped her arms around her new doll. The AX400 had just adjusted the heating and had cleared the table it had installed a few hours earlier: it was a mechanical fairy that drew up and undid the sets of the perfect lives of its owners. Androids had this quality of discretion that surpassed the servants of the past, and this talent was more of the wandering ghost than the volunteer servant.

Scott Harper had not decorated his living room since he knew he was going to spend Christmas Eve alone. Even the television was his enemy: the programs full of ancestral soap operas, respecting the marketing tradition and the screen shouted _miracle_ like a religious fanatic, spewing family happiness that made Scott sick. Next month, he would celebrate the five years of his divorce. It was no longer a shameful failure today: the chronic divorced were mostly judged for the crazy expenses invested in their relationships rather than the romantic instability that has become ordinary. But it was his only divorce and this separation had hit him a few weeks after losing his job. This common American had not been a good or a bad surgeon: he had made mistakes and had his small successes as well, like everyone else. But it was no longer enough in front of the trend of machines that invade the hospitals. The most talented doctors were still spared, but those who did not have this little extra got the sack. Slumped on his couch, the former surgeon lit a cigarette, overwhelmed with fatigue.

As for Mickael Nelson, he had fallen asleep in Vanessa's childhood room, the same since she was nine, but fortunately the decor had evolved along with the one that occupied it, replacing the drawings of ponies with photos of high school themselves replaced by period paintings printed on glossy paper. Vanessa was passionate about romantic portraits and even headed for the profession of assisting machines that restored works of art, monitoring quality and bringing a touch of sensitivity. In the old days, machines were helping humans, but today the process was reversed, which did not bother the future restorer who had accepted this idea.

In the detective's apartment, the lights had just turn off. Gnocchi was rolled into a ball on a corner of the blanket, welcoming his master, narrowing his eyes, giving him boundless confidence. Gavin folded the sheet over him and curled up in his own heat as the android was not there. The man had become used to being warmed and loved by his partner, but that night, he realized how cold and hollow his bed was when Conrad was away.

Gavin had finally fallen asleep without realizing it, caught up in an opaque void without dreams. The pain in the heart still persisted like a viper, even in his sleep, wriggling and poisoning him, until an antidote was distilled through a touch on his shoulder. It was only a fleeting brush, yet it woke the detective. Turning around, Gavin saw the blue LED in the dark.

He did not know what time it was, and instead of grabbing his phone to look, Gavin grabbed the pillow and gave a violent blow to Conrad's face.

"Holy fucking shit! Where were you?!"

The RK900 had calculated the probabilities before going to bed and this reaction had had ninety-one percent chance of occurring, so the android received the pillow without flinching. Christmas was a public holiday and if Gavin wanted it, Conrad could explain everything to him right now. Anyway, its confession was likely to drive out traces of fatigue.

"I was at the CyberLife Tower."

Leaning on one elbow, Gavin froze. For a moment, he was afraid of being in front of another RK900, but a new model would never come to bed to touch him that way. And then, the plastic body bore a smell of shower gel, complying with a constraint that the detective had imposed on his partner: machine or not, Conrad had to follow the same rules of hygiene if it wanted to sleep with Gavin.

"Are you the same Conrad?"

In the shadows, the man heard the android laugh, then he felt the warm palm on his cheek.

"Of course. Well, I'm still the same, but with more answers."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you know those quotes that all want to say the same thing? You need to know yourself to move forward? That's what I started doing. My creators left very little information about my model: there's no name, no date, so I went to the source."

Pushed by a reflex, Gavin searched for the hand of the android, taking his bearings from the embed blue armband. If he understood Conrad's motives, he did not understand why the robot had thrown itself into this business alone, without telling him anything.

"And what if you hadn't come back, what would I have done?"

"Another model would have replaced me then."

This prospect was horrible and the fingers tightened.

"I would have dismounted it piece by piece and thrown in a dumpster."

"Even if he would have been my perfect twin? I can't believe you wouldn't take advantage of him."

"I don't give a shit: I don't want another RK900, I want you, Conrad." The android was expecting this answer, yet it was so reassuring to hear it. "And how were you able to get out? What did you find?"

"I met Connor."

The mention of the RK800 awakened a bitterness that had just been bored lately, no longer being allowed to go after the RK900. Even though Connor was just a machine, it had incurred the wrath of the detective.

"I hope you destroyed it."

"No, I didn't," before taking another hit, Conrad added quickly, "he's harmless, Gavin: there's only his head where the biocomponents are with the most important programs that are still studied. CyberLife may be looking for the flaws of his sociability—"

"You should've split its skull anyway."

"Chloe wouldn't have been able to explain this accident."

"Chloe?"

"The RT600 you met when I lost my leg."

"Oh right— But wait, she was there? And she helped you?"

"She became deviant. She heard me when I confessed that I—"

"Fuck," the man cut off, remembering clearly that moment, the moment when he had learned that robots could fall in love. "I knew you had screwed up and we were going to pay for that. I told you, damn it."

"She didn't say anything. And then, she would've already been reprogrammed, just like me."

"You look very confident. We're talking about CyberLife, you know."

Doubts persisted in its program, however, the android had been able to advance in its identity quest with this hostess and no trap had closed on it. Conrad was still the same, the deviance virus intact and its feelings as its programs were stable.

"Wait, you said this accident, why? What happened?"

"Chloe showed me that about thirty RK900 was available to replace me in case of accident. So I overheated a power panel and started a fire in the workshop so there was none left."

Conrad was trying to speak, not focusing on Gavin's chain of curses and threats during the story. The detective could not believe it: he had noticed a tendency to violence in the android, yet each access surprised him.

"Do you have anything else to fucking confess? You burst the White House? You beat up Iggy Pop's android? What do you have in your fucking skull?!"

"A whole system of biocomponents that looks like the one of a human being."

"Don't try to be a smartass!"

"But it's true: I've something else to tell you."

"Great! According to you, will my desire of murder increase much? Will you survive?"

"I told Dr. Landru about us."

"What?"

"I told him we were together."

Gavin did not care if the neighbors could hear him now. He had just got up and started pacing the room, quickly finding his voice after his surprise and repeating his question: what the android had in its fucking skull?

"I trust Dr. Landru, Gavin. He won't say anything and he didn't judge us."

Thanks to its exact memory, Conrad reported the precise words of the doctor, even those who mentioned a muzzle for the wild detective. But its partner did not care: they had agreed to bring their relationship smoothly, claiming a friendship at first to check the reactions before confessing the whole truth.

"But you told Landru that we fuck!"

"I didn't use this word."

Conrad was still in bed and waited a few minutes until Gavin sat on the edge, cracking his knuckles rather than hitting the robot. However, he could not get really angry: a feeling of pity supplanted that emotion so natural to him. As a human being, he could not understand what Conrad was experiencing, but he remembered what the RK900 had told him before destroying all the ZK200s: _I_ 'm an android and humans don't have their word to say. Of course Conrad could make decisions, but the machine seemed to be acting without considering the impacts of its actions. Unless it was its goal to enter this world and live its relationship with a human?

"Gavin. I'm no longer the same android that you met in September." The skin of its hand embraced the vertebrae, running up the curved back. "I want to exist and I want to be unique. Even if my memory can be transferred to a new body, part of my personality will be lost, as if I were partly dead. Then it would be a new envelope that would come back, and I can't bear the idea of being replaced." Gavin immediately thought of Lukas and his heart missed a beat, suffocating like a criminal caught. "That's why I destroyed the other RK900s. I want to be the only RK900, the only Conrad."

The android was running its own revolution, slower, more personal than Markus' one. But through these first acts, the RK900 could succeed the RK200.

"You're the only human with whom I can speak frankly, but that isn't enough anymore: I need to know other opinions and if I can become optimistic or pessimistic about the future, if my wishes have a chance to be realized."

"And? Do you already have an orientation? Because just in case you haven't notice, we live in a shitty society."

"I know you never approved Markus' claims, but today it would be different, wouldn't it?"

Gavin shrugged, measuring how much he had changed since one year.

"Meh. He spoke mostly of androids, of their freedom. He said he wanted androids and humans to live in harmony but he wasn't proposing anything concrete. He could've asked for marriage between the two species for example."

The idea was curious.

"You intend to ask me to marry you?"

"Certainly not! 'Conrad Reed', what an ugly name."

"And what about Gavin RK900?"

The human turned around laughing and gave the android a new hit with the pillow, softer this time. Conrad's LED was disturbed by a few red flashes. The robot had this disadvantage compared to Gavin: in the dim light, the human cheeks remained hidden when the blushing of an android shone in evidence.

Without much conviction, they pretended to fight, not inviting the pain in their affectionate struggle. Much stronger and more agile, Conrad quickly got the upper hand and slammed Gavin against the mattress, listening how the detective had run out of breath.

There was no trace of anger anymore: the android had been convincing and its partner seemed to accept these initiatives. Markus' peaceful revolution had been interrupted and had not moved the city enough, so it had to be done differently.

"Just— next time, warn me, okay?"

"I will."

Dr. Landru and other humans would certainly support the robot, but it was Gavin's approval that really mattered.

Conrad leaned over to kiss him, but before the lips could meet, Gavin held it back, one hand against his chest.

"Conrad—" it was his turn to be honest. "I don't have the right to yell at you, as I fucked up too, even though it wasn't justified at all—" somehow, he was afraid Conrad would hit him. The reaction would have been justified: he just wanted the android to think about using the pillow rather than its fists where titanium knuckles were hidden. "I went out tonight. The fact that you took off without telling me why pissed me off and I went to the bar with someone. It was stupid because it was just for revenge—"

"With Lukas Karlsson?"

Gavin jumped.

"How do you know?"

"Gavin, I noticed how he was looking at you."

"And you never said anything?"

"You told me that you don't own me, so I don't own you either. Sometimes I tell myself that I must be boring, that my attempts to disable are certainly tiring. Maybe you miss a relationship with a human being so I would've understood if you had leave for Lukas Karlsson."

Like the detective, the RK900 did not really pay attention to the new ones, having a neutral opinion. Except for Lukas, the one who was human, the one who had become a kind of rival.

"Did something happen?"

The hands of the android did not move. Even its LED was calm.

"No, he wanted to kiss me but I pushed him away." Now the circle turned red. "Don't do anything against him, Conrad: he thought I was single and when I told him I had someone, he apologized. He even felt more stupid than me—"

"Did you tell him?"

"I didn't say that I was with an android, no! Unlike you, I don't want to mess around. But I told him I was— he noticed that I wasn't available." Gavin thought it would be easier to speak lying down, but even the words seemed to be under gravity, trapped deep in his throat, so he straightened up, sitting down and taking a breath. "I can't fucking believe you think I'm getting tired of _you_."

"I noticed that human beings could get bored very quickly."

"Conrad, not so long ago, I thought that androids were useless, that they were boring and stupid, controlled by automatisms. I still thought it when you arrived: we locked you in the premises with Tina and you never said anything, like you didn't care. But after a while, I realized that I was wrong, especially about you. You're—" the android leaned in case the voice broke, it let Gavin to take his time. And finally, the words finally came out. "You're fascinating, handsome, surprising, so much so that every morning, when you come to nestle against me when the alarm clock rings, I wonder why you're still here, how and why I still keep you, thanks to which fucking miracle you're still with me."

"Do you lack confidence in yourself?"

"No I don't! It's because you're an artificial intelligence, shit, humans must be so despicable and dull for you. And then, humans get old—"

"Like machines."

"Yeah, right, you're going to have wrinkles."

"No, but I too will get old, Gavin: my programs will become slower, my joints will wear out and other androids will succeed me. My model will become obsolete and others much more successful will come. But it doesn't bother me, as long as they aren't other RK900s."

Gavin had never thought of this eventuality. CyberLife guaranteed impressive longevity for their machines, but the owner of an AX400 or PL600 would no longer be there to confirm or not the promises of the company. Now conscious of owning a life, Conrad envisioned death, or rather the end, with much calm.

This was a common point between robots and humans.

"You freak out that another RK900 could replace you and I understand you, because I'm freaking out too. I don't care if he looks like you, if he has your voice, it will never be you. But I also freak out about the idea that you leave by yourself." His voice choked for a moment but the android fully heard Gavin say "I wish you knew how much I care about you."

Conrad felt a strange emotion: it was a truly painful joy that resembled an electric shock. In the darkness only chopped by the glimmers from outside, Gavin ventured to glance at his partner and noticed that Conrad's LED had changed: it was white. He did not remember having seen this color at his partner's temple, for any android in fact.

"Conrad? Are you okay? There's something wrong with your LED, it's—"

"On the contrary," said Conrad, "I don't get bored. You're also fascinating, handsome and surprising. It looks like that you've never had to free yourself from anything, that you're free and wild by nature, without fear and without master. I really started to love you for that""

It was not a computer anomaly: it was an emotion that was finally expressed with sharpness, brave enough to shine in silver nuances. With a slight push, Conrad forced Gavin to lie down again to snuggle against him, kissing him gratefully. Gnocchi also approached to take advantage of the heat of the android. The cat was the only intruder allowed to share their embrace.

Gavin slid his arms around its neck, letting Conrad measure his heart rate when he said:

"Hey, Conrad, even when you'll be an old machine that struggle and take three years to make the slightest transfer, there will still be a human to love you."

"You'll be so old and senile that you'll change my name again."

"Not at all, Colin, I swear to you."

It had been necessary to go through it so that finally the two natures could communicate and talk to each other frankly, with more tenderness than usual.

They had not made love that night, their words had made it for them, mingling, answering each other, and Gavin had finally gone back to sleep when the gray dawn rose, the name of Conrad and forgiveness on his lips.

The sunny day before seemed far away now that black clouds had accumulated over Detroit. At least, in spite of their funereal attitude, they carried in their dark cotton promises of white snow. The LED of Conrad preceded the winter weather: sometimes, a white light crossed the ring, spreading the common blue of its passage to reflect a strange joy.

Finally, the android knew it liked Christmas very much.


	5. Witness

**For those who remember the previous survey, I'm very happy to present you a cover made by Poofic who is also (!) translating to the Russian translation of The Horde of Children!**

vk dot com (slash) akiranotren?w=wall452148812_737

 **She dared to tell me that she didn't dare to send it to me because she wasn't satisfied, excuse me, it's my new phone wall (these artists, so—)**

 **By the way, if there are Russian students who want to train or what, the translated fic is here:**

ficbook dot net (slash) readfic/7585086

* * *

The Christmas weekend had just passed and the people, with bad grave, returned to their daily lives. Thanks to all these returns, there will be human staff to question in the Detroit transport company. Yet, in the car, before waking up the engine, Gavin turned on the radio and picked a folder he had named 'Conrad'.

"Do you mind if I listen to my Christmas gift?"

"Why would I mind?"

"When a human creates something, he don't really want to hear what he made, maybe androids react the same way?"

The day before, Gavin was surprised when Conrad asked him to sit on the couch and let the android transfer a file to his computer. Despite the lack of salary, the android had actually prepared something to offer its partner: thanks to its abilities, Conrad had dissected all the songs of the band _Poets of the Fall_ found on the computer and had managed to compose new music, even adapting _You and Me_ by Alice Cooper with the voice of Marko Saaresto. When Gavin had recognized the intonations of the singer on the rhythm of this old rock ballad, he was surprised, trying to understand what was happening: it was not possible that an album of this Finnish group had escaped him.

Conrad had finally explained that this seven songs playlist was unique and that Gavin was the only owner.

"How did you do that?"

" _Poets of the Fall_ has a very varied register, just like Saaresto's voice who's able to take several intonations. I managed to modify the fragments without difficulty, but I'm not sure of the result: is it fluid enough for the human ear? I can't tell."

"It's perfect. It really sounds like it comes from the band."

This compliment and the hug that followed lit up a silver glow at Conrad's temple.

Gavin was a frank person, so if the gift did not please him, he would not have bothered to imitate joy, and if he played the files into the car, it was enough to prove that the gift really touched him.

"Why humans don't want to listen to what they have created?"

"I don't know, I've no creative talent, but I guess it's because they notice a lot of flaws."

"But there's no fault."

"You're so narcissistic!"

He slapped the android on the thigh.

Conrad was laughing: work was waiting for them, and yet they were flirting, there, always parked in the parking lot. Since their conversation, they had rediscovered themselves, exchanging on personal fears. They had finally found this strength to recognize their respective weaknesses.

The RK900 had said it wanted to speak but did not know how to take initiatives: rigid mind, the robot needed organization, unable to live spontaneously like Gavin could do. If Conrad was deviant, it was still a machine and the human had to adapt to its nature. So Gavin had suggested that it organize a calendar, moments for talks, so Conrad started a specific agenda. It had even begun to write down that Gavin's next birthday would be celebrated in Milwaukee, which made its partner laugh.

They were joking, teasing and provoking each other as usual, but something in the contacts had changed. There was almost no trace of shyness anymore.

"I can be narcissistic: I'm the best prototype of CyberLife."

"And you did everything to be the only one: you fired your own competition."

"Joking aside, Gavin, as long as you listen and enjoy this playlist, I'm glad."

Of course he listened and appreciated it: this gift had surprised him and confirmed, once again, that he was mistaken when he was associating the androids to emotionless machines.

Gavin finally turned on the engine before being accused of laziness by the RK900 always so inclined to work.

Through they did not go to the police station: first, they would go to the company and that was a good thing as neither of them wanted to mention the fact that they would see Lukas.

* * *

The dominant colors of the company echoed those of the Lions of Detroit, using that bright blue for the logo and spreading their letters in a raw, punchy white as during a football game. The two investigators were greeted by an android secretary, different from the models who dealt with the technical problems on track. Its programs were obsessed with the company, and on the way to the director's office, the machine praised the qualities of the Detroit subway, such as speed, punctuality and cleanliness. Gavin did not listen to these mechanical speeches that were just what he hated among androids, instead, he looked around: in the main hall, a slender screen that was perhaps four meters long presented an animated fresco that told the history of the ways of transport of the city. The Detroit subway had spread over the roofs and into the bitumen depths for about ten years, weaving a network of metal quieter than those built at the beginning of the century, which made this subway the more modern of the country.

Posters also reminded users to renew their subscription on time, and if some were fortunate enough to own a CyberLife android, the model would take care of it automatically thanks to the partnership with the robotics company, thus encouraging users to grant their trust again in Elijah Kamski's society. Some marketing methods never changed.

If the secretary was deviant, it hid its dysfunctions very well: the smile and the look when the android wished them a good day were so conventional that Conrad doubted that it had freed itself from its programs. Despite advances in technology, some elements remained too rigid to be convincing. This was one of the biggest differences with the RK900: it knew now that it was created between the end of 2038 and the beginning of the year 2039, in addition to having inherited all the physical and intelligent improvements. Yet, beyond that, Conrad _really_ had something more.

Since its meeting with Connor, the successor was sure: it was not just a better version of the RK800. It had remembered Gavin's question before their first night: why did they give you a dick if you aren't programmed to use it? Conrad was still searching for the answer, since this detail was not that trivial. Even though the RK900 had not asked its predecessor, it was unlikely that Connor would have a sex that, in terms of funding, would have been an unnecessary supplement. Then why the RK900?

The director of the company, Amelia Kort, welcomed the detective and his partner with a certain anxiety: media already relayed the tragedy with too much precision, making the articles indecent and conferring a fatal appearance to the Roxbury station. The Christmas mood was already forgotten—

Pressed by public opinion, the director was expected in the afternoon to make a speech at the station which was covered with white flowers, much more enchanting than the heaps of gray snow on which they were laid.

Detective Reed could not give her too much detail, so the director settled for answering after agreeing to have her voice recorded in the report. Her words were transcribed by the application, forming like black echoes on the white tablet.

"Was there anybody human on the spot that night?"

"No, there wasn't: it was the Christmas weekend, there were only androids. FE700s who are very autonomous and can deal with technical problems."

"How many androids does your company have?"

"Twenty-three," she had read the number again that morning to be ready to give all the information the police needed. Amelia Kort wanted to cooperate: the arrest of this criminal mattered too. "Not to mention my secretary you met."

"Did one of them have a strange behavior lately?"

"You mean deviant?"

"Yeah."

A chaotic light ran through the windows of the office, drowning the shadows in cold embraces, painting bluish tints on the woman's pale face.

"I don't think so: we had no problem. The androids carry out all the rides at night and day, and the last delay was caused by the tragic event of Friday night. Think that the delay just before was during early October."

"Which model handled Friday's breakdown?"

"Well— I don't know." With a regular mechanical gesture, she put her slim cellphone in the palm of her hands and began to make the shimmering surface turn. "The EMP has disrupted our networks—"

"Shit," Gavin did not care to swear at work. Even fragmented, the information could be useful to Conrad, but if his colleague had nothing to probe, they would not get anywhere.

Though it was an opportunity to probe the entire robotic team to check if a deviant was hiding. He turned to Conrad that was sitting on the other seat facing the desk.

"Conrad, do you feel probing them all?"

"Of course, do you think I might get tired?"

"Not at all, I know that androids don't feel tired but as you do nothing, you may have lost the habit."

Amelia Kort was surprised and looked at the two investigators in turn: when they laughed, she gaped.

"It's because you never watch me when I work."

"Well, I'm going to watch you now. Come on, tin can."

The director and the secretary had never had such exchange, maintaining a purely professional cordiality, even obvious. With a seriousness that contrasted with the two policemen, she asked her assistant to call back all the mechanical staff. In the meantime, the three human technicians would carry out the urban traffic.

A quarter of an hour later, after listening to the detective talk with the RK900, still intriguing the director, the twenty-three androids were lining in the corridor, waiting to be examined. While some faces were recognizable as belonging to other models, the robots formed a varied team, harmonizing the scene they offered. The human brain of Gavin and Amelia Kort could have not stand to see twenty-three clones standing in line.

Conrad deactivated its synthetic skin and grabbed a wrist.

Even if she crossed her arms, pretending to be confident, Amelia leaned over to the detective and murmured:

"Detective, what will happen if your RK900 finds a deviant in the team?"

"Nothing. Deviance isn't a crime. On the other hand, if we find the killer among your androids, the situation will be more complicated."

This answer reassured the director: laws concerning androids applied slowly from one state to another, going from one extreme to the other. Texas advocated the destruction of every deviant android, while Vermont pondered a possible civic status to leave androids who wanted to be free alone. In Washington, there was a debate about three laws that prohibited homeowners from abusing each possession with artificial intelligence.

Yet in Michigan, the shadow of CyberLife was influencing the minds, but the ZK200s case had reformed justice and child robots were now protected as living beings. Kamski's company was sworn in to associate with orphanages and to conduct surveys with social workers.

"I thought deviance was a crime, no matter what."

"It's easier for the courts to summarize cases like that, yes, but there's a difference between wanting to be paid for the job you do and stabbing passengers. If you have a deviant claiming rights without being violent, the police have no intervention to do." He wondered if Conrad, that was already probing the third android, could hear him, so he spoke a little louder: "It's just like when your coffee machine is playing up: you contact the salesmen, you don't call the police. And frankly: if we had to intervene for every bug—"

"That's right," Kort laughed, "at home, the N on my keyboard is less sensitive and capricious, but I've this keyboard for so many years, I don't want to throw it away. It's ridiculous to be so sentimental about machines, but I can't help it."

"On the contrary, I think it's human."

This exchange comforted Gavin. The more he talked about these subjects with others, the more he realized that mentalities were more flexible than he had thought. Now that Landru was aware of his relationship, the detective really wanted to talk with the doctor. He would send him a message to ask him when the detective could come and chat.

Conrad had just released the twenty-third wrist and declared that none of the androids was deviant. That was the good new, because on the other hand, their memories were not only damaged: they were nonexistent, as if the machines had not been lit Friday night. The RK900 had some elements, but they were all older or newer: as for the moment of the crime, it had nothing.

"That can't be," Gavin and Amelia had the same reaction.

"That's what I say to myself too, but I can't find anything."

The witnesses had explained that the android technician had arrived shortly after: the model had restarted very quickly.

"Maybe you didn't check the right way?"

"Don't annoy me, detective, or I let you probe the next androids yourself." With a grin, Conrad added, "even with a good computer, it would take you three days."

"OK, sorry!"

The director could not explain this problem: in a world with a high mechanical population, all the most important grades had followed a training program about technology, learning only one and miserable percent of all the complexity of these beings with blue blood, but the courses were meant to instruct a solid minimum. Still, this mystery exceeded Amelia Kort's abilities.

Unable to get anything more, the two investigators saluted the director who had accompanied them to the car.

While the vehicle was moving away under the tiny flakes that fell in powder, Amelia watched from the corner of the eye her secretary: the robot could stay two hours under the snow, its fingers would keep this rosy hue, its lips would not crackle and the cold would be unable to bite its temples. Finally, the woman asked the android:

"Lucy, how would you react if I called you 'tin can'?"

"You can call me by any name you like, Mrs. Kort."

This smooth answer disappointed Amelia who shrugged.

It was strange: she would have sworn that the relationship between the detective and the investigative model was warm, natural. Maybe the policeman just had the chance to work with a newer model and therefore more convincing and interesting.

* * *

Sheltered from the weather, the policemen entering the police station with sighs of relief, giving compassionate smiles to the colleagues who had to go out.

Conrad was listening to the accounts after reading the autopsy reports, worried that it did not see anything in the androids' memories. Blocked, the robot was looking for other pieces of puzzle.

Waiting with patience, Gavin was sitting on the edge of Conrad's desk, strumming on his cell phone. He was starting a new message to Landru for the sixth time, trying to balance his humor: not enough would mean anger, too much would mean shame.

" _Hey, Landru, Conrad told me he had_ "

" _Landru, since you know about_ "

Well. Fuck it.

" _Landru, are you going to play the dumb ass for a long time? Go ahead, ask me how it feels to go out with the latest CyberLife prototype._ "

He finally typed on the arrow to send it. He was tired of reformulating his thought, which was obvious: since you know, come and ask me all your questions. The forensic scientist was a scientist as curious as a kid, and his protruding bald head was certainly boiling with philosophical reflections.

Discreetly, pretending to concentrate on its tasks, the android moved its forearm to stick against Gavin's thigh. The detective kept an impassive air and did not back down.

"I don't understand, detective: even when a memory is damaged, there are recorded errors, fragments— But there was nothing."

"They may have broken down too and one of them woke up faster than the others. How does an android wake up by the way?"

The machines had batteries to charge but Gavin had never seen Conrad wake up from a night of rest and unplugged, as he had never asked it how a machine sleeps.

Phillip K. Dick had wondered if androids dreamed of artificial sheep.

"I've never broke down this way, but when I wake up, it takes four minutes and thirty seconds for all my programs to start. This is one of the shortest delays."

"Maybe your programs are more complete and require more time. You can't compare yourself to a simple subway technician."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Shut up," Gavin hissed, giving it a slight kick with his knee. "We're going to get the androids from the car in the afternoon, maybe you'll find something? If their memory is in the same state, it's because the EMP was violent and screwed them up."

Conrad agreed, still puzzled.

Gavin jumped when his phone rang, expecting to see Dr. Landru's name on the screen, but it was a phone number attached to the name of Carrie Briggs. For three years, the phone numbers were part of the identity and the numbers were no longer alone. Of course, the detective answered and received greetings from the old lady who asked him if his holidays went well, faithful to a politeness a little ancient.

Luckily, she quickly came to the point:

"With what happened, my friends asked me to tell them what I had seen. As we were discussing, a detail came back to my mind: when the car broke down, some people got up to try to see outside before the android arrived, and when it arrived, we were blocking the way, so we separated and a rather massive man shoved a young woman, one of the victims."

Gavin leaned forward so Conrad could put its white fingers on the back of the cell and heard the conversation too.

"Did you see who it was?"

"It was a passenger who slept just before the breakdown. He has a very big belly, quite tall." Carrie Briggs was able to give a complete description thanks to the lights that had come back after the blackout, and her description was gradually drawing Scott Harper's portrait.

The detective thanked the witness who did not want to make any judgment but thought that this detail might be important. And yes, it was.

"We don't have many clues," Gavin had just rested his phone, "but Harper is an unemployed surgeon and a surgical tool that killed those passengers, and he shoved one of the victims during the ride but no didn't mention it, either because he forgot or for some other reason. It's still a beginning, right?"

"Yes, the elements designate him as the prime suspect," Conrad agreed, though it was thinking about these memories. "It was a gesture of hatred against humans and against androids, which can translate into society itself. Scott Harper may match this profile. We could check why he don't have an android, is it for financial reason, a lack of interest or a strong rejection."

"By the way, White's android, did she seem unhappy to you?"

"She wasn't deviant. It's rather a sign of a quiet life."

The phone rang again. This time it was Landru's answer with a sense of humor that suits the detective's one:

" _And so? How it feels to go out with the latest CyberLife prototype?_ "

Gavin laughed and, instead of answering, asked the doctor if he was available tomorrow morning or if he had only time for the dead.

" _Since the dead have all their time, it's the same for me. Come tomorrow around 8:30._ "

During this exchange, Conrad was collecting the information it had access to: Scott Harper had put a white coat on for twelve years at Henry Ford Hospital, and a few years later, he married Vera Johns. Their rings clung to their finger for eight years to finally slid down, breaking the tie over bronze.

Yet, despite the separations, the co-workers and the old woman had spent so much time with the suspect that they were both distant and intimate witnesses.

"Hey, tea time?" Tina had just slapped Gavin on the shoulder, heading for the staff room.

" _Coffee_ time, you mean," Gavin replied as he left his seat. He encouraged Conrad to follow him and the android eventually get up in turn. It had no stomach, still he could join the conversation. The policemen spoke mostly of what they had offered or received during the weekend: clothes, travels, movies, novels, and even children's drawings. Aubrey White's new phonewall was a work of her niece who had a very personal depiction of great pastures with a very yellow sun over huge, plain red flowers.

Lukas was there too, sitting in front of Conrad that was looking at him. The trainee and the detective had barely greeted each other, still uncomfortable: both would need time before they could forget what had happened or what might have happened. A skid ignored by all and that would eventually be forgotten.

In the conversation, Gavin noticed that nobody had received the last album of this or that group, nobody had received ticket for concert. Proud of Conrad's gift, the detective pulled out his cellphone and handed it to Tina, intending to make her listen to a few songs, except _You and Me_. This one was for Gavin only. Her friend began to look down at the screen before being interrupted by a cry of surprise: Lukas had just received a hot cup of coffee on his thighs.

The officer, like other colleagues, rose to help the recruit.

Instead of joining the movement, Gavin glared at Conrad and grabbed its arm. Its impassive android-wise air did not work with the detective.

Colleagues brought cold-soaked paper towels and made sure that the young man had nothing when Gavin dragged the robot down the hallway. Conrad did not resist and entered the locker room, preceded by its partner.

"Fuck! Are you going to tell me that your arm had a bug?!"

The detective had tried to not speak too loud but his question rang out against the metal lockers. Three rows were lined up in the room, imposing their angular and cold build. The sound became even sharper when it hit the indigo surfaces.

For a moment Conrad thought Gavin was going to grab its collar and press its body against a wall, but the detective just folded his arms, waiting for an answer.

"Not really. I tried to hold my joints but the springs reacted on their own."

"We barely greeted each other this morning! He didn't even look at me!"

"I know. I wanted to apologize but you didn't let me the time."

Gavin sighed, uncrossing his arms to hide his hands in his pockets. In all honesty, he was not surprised: the detective had expected the android to take revenge, even if it was mean.

"I wanted to explain to Lukas Karlsson that the place of 'detective's partner' was already taken, and for doing this, either I spoke to him, which is still too early, or I meant it to him in a certain way, which is possible, then my arm reacted for that purpose."

Unlike the unruffled android, Gavin worked hard to hide his smile. This was not the time to be flattered by Conrad's reaction, nor to admire the initiative because, beyond the point of jealousy, the android had mostly rebelled against a human being. From now, Conrad would no longer let go of Gavin on the pretext that it was only a machine and the android would fight against the beings of flesh. After all, what else did they have besides authentic breathing and a digestive system?

Gavin finally gave up and laughed, calling his partner a pretentious deviant while grazing it wrist.

"You're such an asshole."

The locker room was not cold, but it was nice to feel how hot that wrist was: the absence of a pulse was compensated by this living heat.

"You know, a lot of people make a move on me, so if you start spilling coffee on all my suitors, you'll need many liters."

"That's what you imagine since you're as pretentious as me. But I won't do it again. I promise. Even if I can't wait to be able do to that," the android passed its arm around Gavin's waist and pulled him closer in a possessive but comical gesture, "and say 'this meat bag is mine'."

"This 'meat bag'?" Gavin burst out laughing and slapped Conrad on the butt, "you're not very handsome either with all your cables in your stomach, and I still remember your black tongue when you turned off your skin in the workshop. Disgusting."

"I know, that's why I only turn it off when we're in the dark, so you can't see me."

"Nah, it's okay, I started to get used anyway."

Conrad leaned over and kissed him near the neck to feel the woody scent it loved so much.

"Come on, Terminator, go and apologize. Since you feel emotions, you better show them."

The android nodded and left the room with the detective.

On the other side of the central wall of lockers, Chris Miller was frozen.

Lockers room were rarely occupied during the day, so he took the opportunity to hide records about his little sister in his locker. He knew he was guilty of hiding evidence, but Monica was still a minor and was going through an absurd phase of rebellion where, with friends, she entered apartments to squat them. They brought their own beers and did not ransack anything, making the crimes negligible, but cat paws-shaped tattoos on the second phalanx of the index and middle finger were recognizable and had been sighted by security cameras in the city.

If only she could wear gloves instead of showing off those white prints that contrasted on her dark skin—

And now the policeman was guilty of another crime: having caught a secret between his two colleagues. Chris had the intention to reveal himself, but feared that Reed might ask him what he was doing, moreover, the detective had started speaking at the moment the door had closed, leaving no time for Chris to decide.

Then, what he had heard had stunned him, making him silent as a dead man.

The beginning of the exchange had been ambiguous, but later, with the origin of the dispute, the tone of laughter, and especially the noise produced by the kiss had chased all doubts away. Even now, Chris was not sure he understood for he still could not believe it. Gavin Reed, the one who hit Connor in the stomach last year, who had drawn his gun several times to point it under the RK800's nose, which had remained neutral during the revolution led by Markus, was with an android, the latest prototype RK900 that had become deviant.

* * *

If the Henry Ford Hospital had been modernized, the building on the horizon was still displaying all its brown bricks as a child proudly displays all his teeth. Under the gray sky, the windows imitated scattered candles, edifying the facades that tried to be welcoming.

Even Conrad became more sensitive to the cold which became more aggressive from week to week. Sometimes, the android looked at this picture of Gavin and Tina it had stolen and the desire to discover spring and summer renewed. Conrad had the feeling that it already knew winter, but if it was born at the beginning of the year, why did it have no memory of the longest and sunniest days?

The sliding doors let the investigators in and the interior contrasted with the aged exterior. Screens, so thin that they seemed ready to disappear, covered the white walls and showed all sorts of information in bright letters: the sections for each floor, the doctor's names, the contacts— Gavin passed in front of these too large panels and, instead, he addressed the reception, which consisted of three counters, each held by a model whose function was to welcome the public.

Just like in the morning, the situation required a human interlocutor, a meeting with the director of the establishment. The detective said nothing about the connection between the former employee and the subway event: the few colleagues of the surgeon would not be influenced.

Scott Harper was not the only one to leave because of the rise of the machines: almost seventy percent of the medical staff was now androids, thus excluding a majority of witnesses, but the few remaining human doctors would be sufficient.

At first, the name of Scott Harper did not evoke much, until the director found holiday photos and brought back some memories. Gavin, like Conrad, expected to hear multitude facts about the suspect, but Scott Harper had always been a discreet, even secretive man. A colleague revealed that Scott had never been able to make his patients feel confident:

"Many are angry because machines replace us, but when an android is more human than you, when it shows more sensitivity than you, it isn't the company's fault but yours, your attitude in the job."

This same doctor took his profession to heart and approved the creations of CyberLife capable of imitating empathy. The emotions may have been fake, at least the illusions were perfect and the patients could hang on it like drowning could hang on buoys.

"I know I'm going to be cruel, but I don't regret colleagues like Scott Harper. Especially since he has never done anything to seem sympathetic."

It was the harshest impression, and the other opinions, not so frank, were not sweet for all that. The mystery cultivated by Scott Harper had wearied the doctors who, less and less intrigued, had ceased to be interested in him, even interpreting his silence as an absence of personality.

It was a shame, said a nurse, because with the stature he had, a character more soaked and alive would have made him impressive, even comforting. But Scott Harper had only left a fleeting imprint among his team.

Ringing at 7861 Hartwell Street, Gavin hoped to hear a more intimate impression from Vera Johns. After all, Scott Harper may have isolated himself from his colleagues to concentrate on work while a marriage was a different contract.

A freezing cold escaped from the apartment when the door opened. The woman who appeared in the frame wore a thick cardigan and a wool scarf was wrapped around her neck. When she realized that the police had to talk to her, she apologized: there had been a breakdown in her apartment since this morning, depriving her of heating, and she was still waiting for the technician.

The living room had only one sofa and two armchairs to offer: all of leather, the ideal material that held the cold. Gavin felt as though he was putting his ass on a bench outside, so he preferred to keep his coat. Normally, he would have refused the cup of coffee that the woman put in front of him, but the hot porcelain surface was too tempting.

Palms glued to her cup, Vera asked:

"What happened? Scott is suspected of what?"

"I can't tell you."

She could not know more than the doctors interviewed just before. She began to nibble her dull lip. It was her fifth tea of the day and she was starting to feel queasy with all those liters, but she needed it to ease her waiting. Fucking androids, they were no better than the human electricians at the beginning of the century—

The detective had already finished his cup and, having rested on the coffee table, he began to rub his hands, fighting against the cold. In his heart of hearts, he hoped that Vera Johns would not take too much time to answer his questions, but anyway, she was annoyed by the cold and her patience was wearing out at high speed: every answer was dry and fast.

After a while, after remembering the anniversary dates, the arguments and habits, she sighed.

"I realize that I've never really been close to Scott."

This sad fact did not surprise Gavin. Relationships between humans were sometimes pathetic, loveless. Then why his own story with the RK900 should be shameful?

By the way, he asked about the subject of androids which were also targeted by this killer full of hatred.

"Have you ever owned an android when you lived together?"

"Yes, we had, but he became deviant two months before the revolution and he fled."

It was a detail that prompted Conrad to ask the circumstances of this deviancy, taking the right to speak. Vera Johns looked down at her livid tea. The bag was still floating in the greenish water like a jellyfish made of hessian. Even the smell, usually appreciated, had finally disgusted her, associated now with her impatience.

"Scott drank, well, he still drinks. If he's calm in normal times, a quality that I loved when I married him, he really becomes a jer— sorry, he becomes stubborn and execrable when he emptied a bottle all by himself."

"Was he was violent?"

"Not with me. But he lashed out at the android, yet it didn't happen every month!"

"Do you have an idea about the frequency?"

"Something like once every two or three months. It was long enough for me to forgive him, but at the slightest annoyance at work or a week a little hard, he opened a bottle and I locked myself in the room to no longer hear him curse the whole world."

Gavin raised an eyebrow and looked at Conrad. The more they learned about Harper, the more unpleasant the man seemed to be. That being said, the flaws they heard were not reprehensible crimes.

"Is he close to his family?"

It was Conrad again who asked this question. The shortcut was a bit easy, criminals often having family conflicts, but it was a detail he needed to know.

"No, he isn't." The answer did not arouse any surprise. "His parents have never divorced and they spend their time arguing. Even on our wedding day, they really fu— sorry, I mean they ruined the atmosphere."

"You can use your own words, Mrs. Johns, my partner's vocabulary is much more shocking than yours."

Vera widened her dark eyes, staring at the android who laughed with the detective. This replica forced a small anxious smile out of the woman: she did not know how to react to a robot with a sense of humor.

"Who asked for divorce?" Gavin asked after hitting his partner's arm, not offended at all.

"I did. When he lost his job, replaced by androids, he sank into some depression, but instead of crying all day, he was hyperactive, angry. I couldn't stand him anymore."

Indeed it was a possible reaction, still, they did not know if this anger had subsided or if it had developed.

* * *

Certainly, they knew more about Scott Harper, but only intuitions designed him as guilty of mass murder and shock a hated society, nothing more. Gavin and Conrad exchanged their impressions in the car: the android was able to be objective compared to the detective who saw no other suspect. It was not Carrie White, nor Mickael Nelson, nor Richard White.

"There's this memory problem, Gavin."

"It must come from the EPM."

"An android couldn't have moved if he was still down, and if he was no longer down, then his memory keeps track of what he does."

The human shrugged, less concerned about this detail than the robot.

As he passed the line of cars in the parking lot, Gavin braked sharply: his eyes had been attracted by the presence of a head on the roof of a car.

"Holy shit, look!"

The front beams swept the snowy scene, pushing the contrasts into deep chaotic shadows. The white car, the one owned by Alice Person perhaps, was striped with blue runs that came from the clear slit throat of a mechanical head. The face, which was unaware of the flakes that settled in its hair, seemed so peaceful: eyes closed, mouth neutral, the skin resisted even the cold. Yet, in the middle of the forehead, a discrete dot had pierced the plastic shell: a small and tiny impact which had released oily blood.

Conrad did not wait for Gavin to park: the android got out of the car and recorded the scene, photographing the angles in its memory. Everything was immortalized: the powdery light in the surroundings, the footprints encrusted in the crust of ice that was forming, the position of this extinct head and the drawings formed by the thirium flowing towards the ground. Instead of dying the snow red, this blood left an indigo print.

Once the RK900 collected all this information, he came closer. According to the license plate, it was Officer Person's vehicle. Gavin watched as his partner put its palms against the cheeks of this disabled head, but the android could not probe anything if the machine was off. The vital organs of a machine were not in the skull: only the thirium pump was a necessary component for the operation. The killer had disabled beforehand this model and had, to express his hatred, planted a trocar in the middle of this forehead.

"So?" Asked Gavin, who had opened the window.

Conrad advised him to park so they could enter the police station and begin to analyze this new element.

Lacking of fingerprints, the RK900 could take this skull. Turning it over, the android noticed that the cut of the throat was clear, but this model had been decapitated and not disassembled. As he approached, Gavin looked at this head without touching it.

Then he put his hand on Conrad's shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course, I am."

It was always difficult to know if Conrad was lying about its emotions or not: like many machines, it was good at remaining impassive. Yet its eyelids had stopped blinking and flakes were trapped in its motionless eyelashes.

Gavin's hand slid between its shoulders, warmer:

"Hey, when we catch him, you can spill coffee on his thighs. I promise, I won't stop you."

Finally, its eyelids began to move again and the android stopped fixing this dead face. It turned to the detective, smiling:

"I'm sure you'll do that before me, but thanks, Gavin."

* * *

It was really not the moment, however, Florent le Dantec had once again been expelled from a bar. The two policemen who had picked him up on the frozen sidewalk had their skulls flooded with French songs, unable to understand how some stanzas of _Vive la Bretagne_ (1) were obscene.

When the drunkard rose his voice, bawling, Gavin swore a cruse as a welcome.

"Fuck, not now."

Conrad gave up translating what it heard. Anyway, the beauty of the melody would lose rustic charm once pronounced in American. The android placed its hand on the detective's shoulder and encouraged him to focus on the screen again. With Alice Person, they watched what the surveillance cameras had recorded since the morning. It was early in the afternoon that a person wrapped in a thick coat appeared in the camera's sight. A beany and a scarf stuck in the collar deprived the investigators of a good glimpse of his face, and the snow that fell continuously did not help either.

The silhouette supported a neutral bag. Despite the blank plastic, Gavin could recognize the shape of a head inside, and the bottom of the bag was weighed down by accumulating thirium. Alice's car was chosen at random, probably because it was not too far from the exit, because it was between several cars and finally, its white color had completed the choice.

The officer held back an insult, but her fists closed in an angry reflex.

"It's hard to recognize the silhouette of Scott Harper," Conrad observed, "with these clothes, anyone can look thick."

"But the sizes are similar, right?"

The android leaned its head to the side. The snow made the quality of the image mediocre, forcing the robot to rely on information too thin. After a few seconds, it conceded:

"Yes, they could match—"

They had no proof, but with these first elements, the detective could perhaps convince Fowler to put the former surgeon in custody. No wicker chair, no light curtain, no familiar comfort: Scott Harper would be in a cold room, face to face with the detective, and should answer any questions. His mania of mystery did not serve him anyway.

As Gavin headed for the captain's impressive office, Conrad got up and headed for the cells. Beyond the window, Florent le Dantec was sitting on his bench. He had spent so many hours on it that it was almost his own. He was drinking a great glass of water to swallow a pill capable of sobering up faster. His hands were red: they strained had been really put to the test outside, trying to support the drunk and heavy body on the cold asphalt. The fingers still trembled at the memory of this fight.

Conrad unlocked the cell and invited itself. The drunkard noticed it only when the android approached its hand to help him hold the glass.

"Oh! Reed's boyfriend!"

The android smiled: if this fool knew how right he was. Thanks to the robot, Florent managed to swallow two more sips without spilling water everywhere, and then he put the glass on the floor.

" _Pourquoi êtes-vous aussi loin de chez vous ?_ " [Why are you so far away from your home?]

When he arrived, Florent's French was more stable than his English. When he had spoken to the policemen, he had difficulty articulating, the chapped lips making the words muddle, he had also confused terms. But Conrad mostly spoke to him in his language by sympathy.

Florent's eyelids rose in surprise, ready to fly into his bushy eyebrows.

" _Tu parles bien français !_ " [You speak French very well!]

" _Je suis un androïde, je peux comprendre et parler près de trois cents langues._ " [I'm an android: I can understand and speak about three hundred languages.]

It was strange: Florent felt some heat pulsing between his lungs, but it was a small fire different from that caused by boozing. How winter irises could give birth to such echoes of summer?

Conrad repeated its question, curious.

" _J'aime pas parler de la Bretagne, ça me rend triste. Ça fait douze ans que j'y suis pas retourné. D'abord, je suis parti aux États-Unis pour une grande carrière._ " [I don't like talking about Brittany, it makes me sad. It's been twelve years I didn't come back. At first, I went to the United States for a great career.]

" _Et que s'est-il passé ?_ " [And what happened?]

The android feared that the man was fired because of artificial fellows.

" _Je voulais me lancer dans la publicité. Et mon patron était un sale connard._ _Un odieux connard. La pire espèce._ " [I wanted to work in advertising. And my boss was a huge jerk. An obnoxious asshole. The worst kind.] Florent staggered for a moment and clung to the robot. He took the opportunity to tap the solid shoulder. " _Je veux de mal à personne, mais j'ai souvent souhaité que sa voiture fasse un tonneau. Et alors, je me serais pointé à sa fenêtre et je l'aurais montré du doigt en riant._ " [I wish no harm no anyone, but I really wish his car to roll over. And then, I would've pointed at his window and would've pointed at him laughing.]

" _Qu'est-ce qu'il avait fait ?_ " [What did he do?]

Dirty tricks, really dirty tricks. Florent le Dantec was in his boss' cross hairs because he had just landed from its steep coast, the accent still very present. The guy who was his boss came from Texas and did not hesitate to talk too fast, to chew syllables. The more he chained the orders, the less he repeated them.

Florent's colleagues were friendly, yes, but they had been targeted by their leader before the arrival of the Frenchman, so the new victim allowed them to breathe a bit, until the boss got bored and attacked someone else again.

" _Tous les dimanches soirs, je pleurais. Je pleurais toute la nuit avant d'aller bosser, j'avais un mal de bide sur le chemin, t'imagines pas. Et le soir, en rentrant, j'étais pas heureux parce que je pensais au lendemain Avoir peur à cause de son chef, c'est une situation horrible._ " [Every Sunday night, I was crying. I was crying all night before going to work, my stomach hurt me all the way, you can't even imagine. And in the evening, when I came home, I wasn't happy because I was thinking about the next day. Being afraid because of his boss is a horrible situation.]

And one day, a morning in May, perhaps drunk by the smell of bright flowers and motivated by a need to live, Florent had said to this man to go fuck himself. Spring had driven away ideas of suicide and the days that had lengthened had reminded him to cling to his existence. So he had insulted his boss in Breton, in French, calling him _sombre merde_. The American did not need a translation.

The laughter and the tears were shared in the tired eyes of the drunkard.

" _Je savais que j'aurais plus de boulot, mais je m'en foutais : j'allais vivre._ " [I knew I would have no more work, but I didn't care: I was going to live.]

The pump of thirium became narrow: the tubes seemed to be knotted around the thirium which circulated with difficulty. Conrad was beginning to feel great sympathy for this stranger so far from the Celtic lands.

" _C'est pas glorieux, hein, dès que j'ai assez de sous, je peux aller à l'hôtel. Mais je préfère me soûler que dormir dans un grand lit. Les grands lits deviennent flippants quand on est seul au monde._ " [It isn't glorious, huh, as soon as I've enough money, I can go to the hotel but I'd rather get drunk than sleep in a big bed. Big beds become scary when you're alone in the world.]

Suddenly, Florent felt very tired, so he settled down to lie on the bench. The skin of his hands was still uptight. Conrad knew that if its hands warmed those fragile fingers too quickly, it would crack that wounded skin. Between its barely warm palms, it kept the man's fingers to protect, helping the blood to flow again.

" _Au fait, comment tu t'appelles ? Je t'ai jamais demandé._ " [By the way, what's your name? I never asked you.]

"Conrad."

" _Et pourquoi mon histoire t'intéresse ? C'est pas pour que tu balances à Reed, hein ?_ " [And why does my story interest you? It isn't for you to rat out Reed, huh?]

" _Non, c'est juste que je suis curieux. Dans ma base de données, les cellules sont synonymes d'emprisonnement et donc de souffrance, pourtant, vous continuez de revenir avec un certain plaisir. Ce qui était une situation contradictoire et j'avais besoin de comprendre._ " [No, it's just that I'm curious. In my database, cells are synonymous with imprisonment and therefore suffering, yet it seems that you keep coming back with a certain pleasure. Which was a contradictory situation and I needed to understand.]

And artificial intelligences refuse what does not belong to logic. And when they began to feel sympathy, the need for information was like a hunger that gnawed from within.

" _C'est vrai,_ " [That's right,] recognized Florent, " _j'aime bien faire chier ton copain._ " [I like to piss off your boyfriend.] He then leaned in, whispering, " _quand je suis en train de boire, il m'arrive de pleurer, mais jamais autant que les dimanches soirs, tu peux me croire. Je suis heureux de venir ici, y a des gens sympas, t'en fais même parti._ " [When I'm drinking, I cry sometimes, but never as much as Sunday nights, you can believe me. I'm happy to come here, there are nice people, just like you.]

Keeping those fingers less numb between its palms, Conrad smiled at the drunkard, thanking him for talking with it.

* * *

(1) _Vive la Bretagne_ (Long live Brittany!) is a French bawdy song with some... hints like "tail" rising, eggplant used as dildo, etc.


	6. All this bravery

When Scott Harper opened the door to the police, Detective Reed's tone made him understand that there was no choice but to follow them. The team had donated five minutes for him to get dressed, advising him to take also a toilet case and clean underwear, _just in case_ he had to be remanded in custody for forty-eight hours had said the detective.

The man did not flinch: this pretentious cop had a good place and the former surgeon was certainly not going to kowtow to his rank, his salary, his comfort. With a jealous automatism, Harper looked at Reed's ring finger without seeing any mark of alliance. That was one less reason to hate him.

During the whole trip, the suspect did not lose his lips: he knew that his arrest was related to the last Friday murders, but he did not know why he was being taken away, why he was dragged into custody. Did the others also sit on one of those metal chairs on which his massive build slumped?

His wrists were not handcuffed, this staging to impress was not necessary: the ceiling so low, the walls so cold weighed enough to remind of the justice's burden.

After the first formalities, detective Reed got to the heart of the matter:

"A witness saw you jostling one of the passengers dead today, is that right?"

Ah, that was it. The investigation was getting nowhere, so the police was looking for clues in the smallest of facts. Now that Harper was facing with this scarred nose again, he must be honest.

"Yes, that's right."

"You didn't mention it when I came to question you. Why?"

"I didn't think it was important. And I was afraid of being suspected."

Gavin scrutinized him: some individuals shone with a charismatic aura, imposing themselves with fluid gestures, reasoned words. Yet Scott Harper was the antithesis of an orator: flabby, faded, his existence seemed to be limited to living between human beings, excluded in indifference and no one tear would fall when he will disappear.

This impression could be misleading; the detective wanted to be able to adopt the same neutrality as the android that was watching the exchange from the other side of the window. He was really trying to follow this professional calm, maybe he could even impress the RK900 a bit.

"Do you have something to confess?"

"Not at all!"

"Why are you afraid of being suspected then?"

Scott Harper tried to justify himself but gave up: his reasons no longer interested the investigator who insisted on the inconsistency:

"You're afraid of being suspected, but instead of confessing honestly, you stay brief. Should I recall you your answer of Saturday? When I asked you why you went out? You said 'I went for a walk', that meant 'it's not your business' if you ask me, right?"

The former surgeon recognized this point with a nod.

"So I repeat my question now: why did you go out Friday night? Did you go to a particular park? Do you need to take the subway to fall asleep?"

"The neighborhood where I live is rather austere, if you haven't noticed." Harper was dark, maintaining their rivalries. "So I must take the subway if I want to go to a friendlier place, is it logical enough?"

"Just answer my questions clearly." The suspect did not really get involved in a story where five people had lost their lives: it was either because of a kind of depression or a blunt empathy. Scott Harper could be a fucking idiot or a psychopath full of venom. "What are you looking for, Harper? If you are not guilty, why are you wasting my time? Unless you have something else to hide?"

The interviewee lowered his head, so the detective leaned forward: no way to give him any chance to take retirement in his posture.

"Worse than stabbing five random people in a car just before Christmas weekend? Can you imagine the pain of the families? Do you hide something worse than _that_?"

Scott Harper was still mute, his skull showing, but Gavin knew how to make him react:

"Do you know what was used to stab these victims? A trocar."

At the mention of this medical tool, the former surgeon suddenly raised his head.

"A trocar?"

"Yes, I guess it speaks to you, given your old job."

So it was that too: the instrument had pointed the bloodhounds' instinct toward this survivor.

"Do you still have surgical instruments at home?"

"No, I don't. Even when I practiced, I never took them home: we aren't in the nineteenth century anymore."

"Of course." The detective's smile displeased the surgeon. Gavin leaned back in his chair, asking in a conversational tone, "What do you think of androids?"

"What?"

"Androids, what do you think of them?"

"What's the link with me?"

"I was just talking. I could've asked you if you like winter but since you go for a walk in the middle of December, I guess I already know the answer. So? Androids?"

"I have no opinion."

"Aren't you angry? You're jobless because of them."

"You try to make me say that I hate androids, but I don't care about them. They're only machines, however, I despise their creators: they mass-produce robots and don't mind humanity."

Gavin could understand this view, in fact, he had the same: people were attacking machines because they were too afraid to face up to CyberLife and its underground factories, too weak to stand up to this company. And that was the reason why some human hated robots so much.

"Where were you this afternoon?" _If you say it was for a walk, I'll punch you in the fucking face_ , Gavin thought. He clenched his fist in advance, which did not escape Harper.

"I was home."

"Can someone confirm it?"

"You saw I was alone, didn't you? Ask one of your machines to check my computer's activity, it will see I was home all day."

This answer did not exclude an accomplice who could also have been present Friday night. Gavin remembered Vera Johns, but she seemed to have turned the page with her former husband: if she had asked what had happened, she had not tried to defend him.

The door to the adjoining room opened and Chris, who was about to leave, asked Conrad for a few minutes. The android was surprised. For the moment, Reed and Harper were looking like cats that were yowling, not providing any clarification, so Conrad finally agreed, noting the officer's confusion.

"Of course."

The RK900 followed its colleague who, without explanation, immediately sought an isolated corner. Chris did not dare to confess to having heard the conversation with detective Reed for he was always so angry, but it was different with Conrad: the android's calm gave the officer some courage.

"Are you all right, Officer Miller? Your heart rate is quite high and you're showing other signs of nervousness."

"Nothing serious, Conrad, well, nothing serious for me—"

Down the hall, right next to a service door, locked most of the time, so Chris felt the place was safe enough to discuss such a subject.

"Conrad. I was in the locker room when Gavin and you were chatting—"

It was barely visible and yet, Conrad froze. This time, it was the machine that showed a first sign of nervousness: its LED sank in a yellow hue, lively and troubled.

"Did you—"

"No, no, it's alright: I didn't tell anyone. I wasn't even sure I understood, actually—! But you became deviant, right?"

Lying would not help, so Conrad confirmed, assuring Chris that it was not trying to hurt human beings, just like its emotions were stable.

"I believe you, Conrad: if you were a violent deviant, the entire police station would have noticed it for a long time. About Gavin and you, it's—"

"It started in October."

"Damn! Three months? And nobody noticed?"

"I'm a machine, Officer Miller: colleagues don't see me otherwise, therefore they can't imagine this kind of situation."

Feeling a bit guilty, Chris looked down and crossed his hands in front of him, triturating his joints.

"Despite everything that has happened, humans don't change."

"Gavin has changed."

Chris noticed that the android could call the detective by his first name now that the secret was confessed. This statement snatched a laugh from the policeman:

"Yeah, that surprises me a lot."

"You aren't surprise by my relationship with Gavin?"

Chris thought for a moment.

"Not really: _Gavin_ surprises me. Relations between androids and humans exist. Well, even if they're mostly— buyers and their products. Some can be shocked, it's true, but it's not improbable. But we are now talking about _Gavin_. Gavin and you, who looks like Connor! If another colleague was infatuated with his own android at home, I would have been less surprised." Chris scratched his neck, an unconscious gesture that forced him to fix the tips of their shoes. "And what also surprises me is—" he straightened his face, "your feelings seem mutual. They are, right?"

"Yes, Officier, they are, and I was the first to admit them."

Chris gaped. For him, the RK900 had remained a machine: a composition of codes that swarmed through microprocessors, carried by electricity and circulation of thirium. The officer looked at the chest, at the place where the pump was, vaguely remembering the anatomy of the androids. After all, this machine did have a heart.

"I would've liked to see Gavin's face," said the man who tried to laugh, split between surprise and admiration. Chris did not know why, but this news made him happy: there was something beautiful to know that an intellectual and cold being was actually able to love, to immerse itself in the most irrational emotions there are. And what also made Chris happy was that this relationship confirmed all his doubts since his meeting with Markus: the RK200 was not unique: androids were able to feel. "It explains a lot of things. The fact that Gavin wanted to keep you instead of giving you back to Aubrey, the fact that you always go home together while he could just leave you at the station— and he gets better. Gavin seems to be getting better despite Fathia's death. I thought that after Hank's suicide and this murder, he wouldn't recover, but the fact that you're surely must help him."

Conrad's LED turned red, although it was not a sign of anxiety this time: this hue echoed a shy pleasure. Landru's reaction had reassured him, and now Chris' encouragement gave it some bravery.

"What happened with the ZK200s, when I had to lie to the CyberLife spokesperson, was your idea?"

"Yes, it was. I didn't want CyberLife to get them back without knowing what they were going to do to them. These models were deviants who were suffering, so I asked Gavin to help me turn them off."

For weeks, Chris had wondered what had happened with this room, imagining all kinds of scenarios while the self-destruction of the children was the most logical. On the other hand, the possibility that it was the RK900 that was the author of these destructions had never occurred to him.

"It must have been horrible, Conrad—"

Modesty kept Chris from touching the android, yet Conrad would not have repelled this comforting gesture.

"Yes, but Gavin was present." The android allowed itself a smile: in spite of the dull lights of the corridor, it seemed to shine. "You say that Gavin seems to be better because of my presence, and the opposite is true too: I may be deviant, but my emotions are stable, and that's thanks to him."

Knowing that the detective was actually supporting his partner made Chris happy. The policeman then extended his hand:

"I won't say a word, Conrad, I promise, to you and Gavin." Conrad shook Chris' hand, delighted to affirm this fresh friendship. "I already think that you're nice, especially since our little chat, but it's different now."

Chris reminded Conrad of his phone number and address in case of trouble: his door would still be open to welcome the android.

"I feel really stupid to say that— but I wish you both a lot of courage and happiness, even if we live in a pessimistic time, I'm sure there are still some of it."

"I'm sure too."

* * *

Despite the defensive stance, Scott Harper would only stay a few hours longer at the police station and come out at dawn.

As for Gavin, he had just taken his coat off to swing it on one of the armchairs of the living room, happy to have finally ended his day. Conrad would have liked to probe the memories of the androids witnesses before they returned to the apartment, but the detective was too exhausted and insisted on postponing it until tomorrow.

Gavin was not even hungry, unlike Gnocchi who welcomed his masters with much recourse to hungry meowing. Conrad volunteered to fill his bowl, leaving Gavin so he could make a sandwich.

"What do you think of Scott Harper?"

"I'm less categorical than you. He's the ideal culprit because he's the only one, but some details leave me confused."

"Yeah, I know, this thing about memories. You still have no explanation?"

Unfortunately, no: if the artificial intelligence was deadlocked, the human did not feel like he could bring up an explanation. For now, as long as they had Scott Harper on hand, the detective preferred to search in this way instead of twiddle thumbs for days.

In any case, after their face-to-face, the former surgeon seemed hateful to him.

"Hey, I didn't say Harper was a killer, I'm just saying he's a dipshit."

"Fortunately no one has ever suspected you because of your personality, then."

Gavin laughed and took advantage of the fact that Conrad was leaning over, putting away the bag of kibble, slapping this butt.

"That's the third time you slap my bottom since Sunday, do you want to tell me something?"

"What do you want," the human shrugged, "I don't know how to express myself when I love something."

Despite the fatigue, his partner was in a jolly mood and Conrad was wondering if it was the right time to tell that Officer Miller knew about them. On the other hand, if the android kept this secret, Gavin would be angry with it for remaining silent for too long.

The purring of Gnocchi reverberated on the edge of the bowl. Conrad knew that cats liked to have some peace when they eat, but it could not help stroking this graceful back.

"What were you talking about with Florent, by the way?"

"We were talking about him." The android finally released the cat, "I wondered what a Frenchman was doing so far from home, what could be felt in this situation. I was created in Detroit, at least I think, and I was only in Milwaukee with you. The rest of the world, I only know it through the documents in a database, that's all."

"And he answered you? He must have been so flustered, like always—"

"You know, Gavin, he isn't just an alcoholic."

As Hank Anderson was not just an old drunkard, however, the sufferings of the Frenchman did not awaken any compassion. It was of course easier for the android that was insensitive to the psychological fatigue, the kind of burden that could weigh on the entourage of a person suffering from alcoholism.

Perhaps it was a good thing that robots, tireless and neutral, were at the service of hospitals, lending an artificial but stronger shoulder to patients and bereft.

Conrad continued to stand up for this well-known visitor, explaining to Gavin that he was mostly a marginal. The RK900 even used the word 'deviant' and the term was right, after all, since Florent had opposed his boss and, in his struggle, had repelled society. But this detail remained secret: if the detective wanted to know the Le Dantec's story, he would have to ask him.

"He wanted to live and threw himself into a freedom that turned out to be a kind of free fall. I wouldn't have reacted in the same way, but I understand his intentions and— I think he's really brave."

Stubborn, Gavin shrugged, adopting this French gesture.

The drunkard's case had never intrigued the policeman: there were many poor souls in Detroit, so much more around the world. Dependence was a scourge of every era. If Gavin had to worry about every wretch, he could say goodbye to his already fragile sleep.

What impressed him, on the other hand, was the RK900's sensitivity which was constantly developing. Weeks passed and the android gained this ironic quality despite its nature: he was becoming _humane_. Gavin remained fascinated each time his partner showed empathy, maybe he even fell a little more in love.

"Do you think he wants to go back to France?"

"Yes, I do." If the android ever tilted its head, Conrad's gaze was never lost when it was thinking, unlike the RK800: it even had this bad habit to fix its interlocutor. "I did some research about Brittany. It's a beautiful place."

"Really?"

"It looks like it's out of time. Only four percent of the inhabitants own an android and the commercial structures still have mixed teams, with a majority of humans. It's pretty surreal when you only know Detroit."

"Damn, I'd like to go there," Gavin retorted to annoy the robot. "No android, what a dream!"

"Indeed, I see you well as an old embittered fisherman, but how lucky you are: you met me and I spare you this awful destiny."

They continued to joke, trying to have the last sweet word. As their hands brushed, the android's skin was reflexively deactivated. Gavin was perfectly used to see this flesh, the fluid knuckles and delicate joints, the slightly bluish hue. With only one glance, the plastic looked like porcelain, deceiving with this fragile look. Likewise, one could imagine that the palm was cold when it was hot on the contrary.

It was only later in the evening, in front of the news, that Conrad decided to warn the detective that Chris knew. Anyway the presenter was talking about the tense relations between Russia and the United States, a subject that was years old, even decades old, and no one was interested anymore, sick of being force-fed with paranoid fear.

"Gavin, I've something to tell you."

"I hate this fucking preamble."

"Officer Miller heard us at noon; he was in the locker room too."

The detective became livid, even febrile, and Conrad grabbed his hand in a quick gesture to comfort him.

"It's all right, Gavin: Chris Miller told me while you were questioning Scott Harper. He felt bad for having surprised our conversation, but he assured me he was delighted."

"Yeah? What exactly did he say?"

The android repeated the exact words, but Gavin continued to clench his jaws.

"I've never been close to Chris. I didn't think he could react as well—"

The heart rate was still noisy. Slowly, Conrad was laying on the couch, inviting Gavin to settle against its stomach, certifying that everything was fine:

"I like this person, I think we can trust him."

"You give your trust too easily, you metal-made hippie."

Conrad closed its arms on its partner's shoulders: it was imperturbable, far too solid to break down easily.

"Besides, you never told me that Chris had been confronted with Markus."

"Because I didn't want to admit that it gave a good image of the deviants. If Markus had shot Chris, it would have given me a good reason to go after androids." Conrad slid its fingers through the dark hair, untangling the locks. "But this Markus proved that deviants weren't all degenerate. And that fucking bothered me. Well, back time, not anymore."

Echoing his words, Gavin kissed Conrad at the corner of its mouth, pricking its jaw with his beard he had not shaved in a few days. The android passed its legs around the waist of the human, allowing the metal pelvis to be closer to the one of flesh.

Against its cheek, Conrad felt a deeper breath, and between its legs, a really flattering erection.

"And what could bother you now?"

"That I can't go out with my man."

This qualifier pleased the RK900.

The journalists were still talking, so Gavin cut the broadcast from the tablet with an impatient gesture, plunging them into the dark at once.

"I thought we could go to see a movie."

Conrad was surprised by this proposal.

"You mean at the movie theater?"

"Friday night, there's a new movie coming out, _Lilas_ , the name sucks but the critics speak of a good thriller."

"You want us to go see the movie together? At the movie theater?"

"No, you fucking dumbass: I'm going see it at my mother's house with Gnocchi." In the dark, he noticed that the LED had turned into the happy white. Even if he had kept his eyes closed, Gavin would have felt the embrace of the legs around him become narrower, as the hands clung to his shirt. "We'll hide your LED one way or another, maybe with latex or what makeup artists used for old special effects. And you'll have to wear a thick sweater or the light of your arm could show through the fabric."

"I like the idea." The android then straightened its chin and Gavin started to kiss its throat: Conrad had noticed that the sensors located over its throat were much more sensitive, even vulnerable. "I thought to contact Mark Spencer: he fights for androids but none of my fellow dares to answer because of what happened to Markus and the others. Maybe I could send him an email?"

"Everything you want, Conrad, if we can make love in the next ten minutes."

The android laughed and straightened, able to carry its lustful creature to the bed as the machine does not get tired because of weight.

* * *

Christopher Landru put down his cup. He was at his third cafe since he got up but his heart had become a kind of caffeine engine, so as long as it was not yet 10 o'clock, the doctor had no qualms about using the coffee machine.

The head of the android was on a sterilized tray: the doctor had thought it was a joke first, but the detective had justified himself when he shown the impact in the middle of the forehead. Landru had agreed to inspect the wound: even if the tip of a trocar did not leave the same mark in the epidermis and the plastic, his opinion could be useful.

Before grabbing a magnifying glass, Landru asked with ease:

"So, Reed? I'm still waiting for your verdict."

Conrad knew that its partner had asked to talk to the doctor and, polite, the android stood aside, not far from Moira who remained a faithful machine.

The RK900 raised an eyebrow looking at Gavin, curious.

"I didn't notice any difference except for the smell of new plastic. We've never been to the restaurant and we haven't gone on vacation yet, but Conrad has already told me off because I had channel-hopped in the middle of a show he was watching.

"Conrad can get angry?" The magnifying glass was placed over the hole but Landru, surprised, looked up to smile at the android. Conrad noticed that the tips of his ears moved slightly, perhaps in response to Gavin's laughter.

"You'd be surprised, Landru!"

"Gavin exaggerates: I just took the tablet from his hands to put the show back. I didn't say anything."

"Your LED was red! I saw it!"

The doctor laughed too, imagining the scene. Conrad justified itself: it was a study about crime in the north of the country, something useful for the detective as well.

"See, Landru? We never fight for the menu, but he only thinks about work, I'm forced to threaten to leave him at the police station or he'll never stop."

Landru remembered that their relationship had been lasting for several weeks already: Conrad and Gavin were halfway between novelty and old couple bickering.

Moira approached the doctor, watching the indigo wound: the KL400 seemed neither surprised by the conversation, nor pained by the pierced skull. Its green irises went from one detail to another, measuring, analyzing, recording, much more concentrated than the doctor who asked:

"And what's next then? Ever thought of contacting Mark Spencer?"

"I had this idea," Conrad confirmed, "he defends the androids, but he has only humans by his side, which isn't enough. What really holds me back is that I'm a model attached to law enforcement, I've constraints and my involvement could've a negative impact on Gavin's career."

The detective looked at his partner, stunned and touched at once.

"Sometimes it looks like you're more after the rank of sergeant than me."

"I told you already, Gavin, you deserve that rank."

"There's something curious," Landru suddenly observed, "Conrad, you call Gavin by his first name, but you're still so polite.(1)"

"It's disturbing, huh?" Gavin called. "I already asked him to stop but he can't do it."

"I can't talk to human beings and be informal, doctor, I just can't. There's a rigidity that seems to resist in my program."

"When you talk, I feel like I'm in an old book from Jane Austen," sighed Gavin, who was now used to it.

Landru understood the constraint, but there was nothing to be done: if the RK900 saw a technician with this particular request, its deviance would be unveiled and its chances of survival would collapse.

The head was rested again and the doctor returned to a more professional subject:

"It would not be surprising if the impact was made by a trocar, but I can't be sure."

Wearing latex gloves, the doctor let his index finger draw circles around the print, asking if the hit could have been deadly, but Conrad assured him that the skull of an android was quite fragile and therefore, no vital biocomponent could be found there.

Frowning, Landru nodded as he understood:

"So it was a warning."

"It was to piss us off," Gavin added, "he came to bring it to the fucking parking lot of the police station."

Landru was tempted to smile, amused by the detective's anger, but the situation was far too serious: if the police did not get their hands on this killer, another tragedy would certainly happen again. In addition, androids, that had no law of protection, were easier to eliminate and would be the first victims before the trocar hit again flesh.

"Do you have any track?"

"There was a surgeon in the car, a man named Scott Harper, divorced and unemployed recently."

Gavin did not need to say more: indeed, the portrait pointed suspicions. Before the doctor's opinion was influenced, the RK900 went on:

"It's just a suspect, nothing more. I've to probe the androids of the car this afternoon to check if they've seen anything or not."

Landru wished them good luck and indeed, the two investigators would need it. Gavin wanted Harper to be guilty, so the riddle would have come to an end soon, but a few hours later, the RK900 gave a verdict and darkened their investigation: the memory of androids passengers was damaged, but not non-existent.

It was the first time Detective Reed heard his partner swear.

"Fuck."

"What for?"

Instead of releasing the wrist it was holding for a while, Conrad pushed it away. Its LED was scarlet.

"For I don't understand."

Conrad finally came up with a new possibility by establishing scenarios.

"Detective," it was the RK900 talking, "what if all the androids in the company were really off? They must have been."

"And the android who came to fix the breakdown?"

"It may not have been a FE700. Wait, no, I'm categorical: it wasn't a FE700, it isn't possible."

The fire at its temple lost momentum, gradually becoming engulfed by a golden color: now that it favored this hypothesis, the RK900 felt better.

"We have to see where this android came from. But can he fix a breakdown?"

"I don't know: I need to know the model to explain this detail."

"And he's necessarily deviant."

Conrad squeezed its lips and, without a word, confirmed this evidence. The detective touched its wrist, showing a smirk:

"Hey, that doesn't mean you're the same, Conrad. There are plenty of deviants who stabbed or strangled their owner, but others try to fit in. It isn't because you're deviant that you're necessarily dangerous."

The RK900 then remembered its desire to kill Gavin this afternoon in October when the android had struggled against its own joints so they would not cling to the colleague's throat. There was also this time when the android had destroyed the skull of the first ZK200 in the garbage dump, seized by disgust and fear, not hesitating to put its own existence before the one of a fellow.

Were the deviants all dangerous at first? Was it only because of a strong will that they controlled their fear and could tame their violence?

Conrad needed these answers.

"I hope we find him alive so I can talk to him. There are things I need to know."

"I'll behave well and don't shoot him, you have my word," Gavin promised, raising his hands innocently. "It can be long, but if we get information now about androids on the run, strange behavior or what, we may have something."

Cases of deviance had become very rare compared to the previous year and research would only extend for a few days.

* * *

On Wednesday afternoon, Gavin and the other policemen were surprised to welcome Florent le Dantec for a totally different reason than being drunk and disorderly in a public place: the man had assaulted someone.

Admittedly, the Frenchman was slightly tipsy and his legs began to imitate the gait of a sailor who longs for the hugs of waves, but it was not the most advanced state he had known. The linoleum seemed so soft under his heavy feet and the alcohol had left a red kiss on his nose. The trace was accentuated by winter breath.

This time, it was out of the question for sending him to the drunk tank: Florent le Dantec was lucid enough to be handcuffed and interrogated. Despite the repeated visits, it was the first time he walked through the door of the interrogation room, and his dismal silence was just as unique.

Anna Parker was whispering with her friends, their lips trembling with disappointment, mumbling behind the equally shocked officers.

"Detective, I'm coming with you," Conrad had said in a tone of information rather than demand. The presence of the RK900 was not a big deal for the Breton anyway.

In the steel bracelets, Florent had bent his fingers, scarred by the cold and the aggression: blood was beading on top of a lean phalanx, where the skin imitated glass cracks.

Gavin did not even have the strength to yell at him: it had been a while since Florent le Dantec had not cut his hair and for a moment, Gavin had the impression of seeing Hank. There was also that smell of alcohol that became another common point.

Using a rare compassion, the detective asked:

"What has crossed your mind, Florent?"

Before closing the door, the two investigators had learned from Alfred Wilson that the Frenchman had hit the skull of a man outside with a bottle of beer, sending his victim to the hospital. They did not know if the injury was serious, but the blow had been powerful enough to break the weapon.

Florent chewed his greyish mustache and pointed to Conrad.

"Your boyfriend is a nice guy, Reed."

"I don't care, Florent, answer my question."

"I didn't know that androids could be cooler than humans, I've been thinking a lot."

"Florent. Answer my question."

"I'm answering, damn it!" The two investigators were startled: wrists stuck to the table, the attacker could not hit the metal surface, but his voice ricocheted against the walls, surprising them with his violence. "I'm answering," said Florent more calmly, "seeing someone hitting his android isn't the same than seeing someone swinging his cellphone: they look human. But I never tried to interfere. What for? If people are stupid enough to spoil their own equipment, what can I do about it? But I discovered that androids weren't just hardware, as employees are not just fucking slaves."

Conrad understood the reference, but remained silent.

"The guy I hit was bothering a robot. It was an android that gave some info' about the promotions of a jewelry store. I saw the guy come out of the shop and he was screaming already, as if he couldn't get what he wanted. It's easier to attack an object than an employee. Then this jerk caught the android by the shoulders and threw her on the ground."

Hearing this, the detective felt he could not blame the man. He still had to inform him that he would be going to court shortly and, unfortunately, his gesture would not be well received by the judge.

Florent shrugged, making it clear that it was the least of his worries.

"He'll be sued too since he hit an android, right?"

"Only the store can decide that—"

The three men, with bitterness, saw the same scene: this abused model had certainly resumed its place on the snowy sidewalk, continuing to distribute information, forced to continue its task by forgetting what had happened, nor horrified, nor moved by the gesture of Frenchman. The boss of the shop might be angry, but once he made sure that his android was not damaged, he would move on.

Conrad glanced at Gavin and whispered something in his ear.

"What?!"

"Please, Gavin."

The detective sighed and spoke to the one-way mirror.

"Bring a hot chocolate to Florent."

A few minutes later, the cardboard cup was placed near the hands of the culprit. Conrad put the cup closer so that Florent could place his palms against the hot surface.

" _Merci._ "

* * *

At the desk of the bedroom, Conrad was writing an email for Mark Spencer, totally static while Gavin was trying to hide its LED, trying to put a layer of latex of a shade similar to the skin of the android. The human feared that the light would show through the substance: in full light, he saw nothing, but they were going to spend two hours in a dark movie theater and some gleams could become obvious.

"Don't deactivate your skin", Gavin ordered, turning off the light to check the result.

He might have been fooled by his memory, because he really felt like he could see the blue circle.

"So?"

"If I stay like this during the whole movie," Gavin pressed his temple against Conrad's, "nobody will see a damn thing and I'll have a fucking torticollis tomorrow."

The human turned on the light and started the makeup again from the beginning, first hiding the LED with opaque paper before applying a layer of latex again.

"What are you writing to Spencer?"

"I tell him about Florent le Dantec. He might launch a petition to ease his sentence." The idea was good: Florent le Dantec had been very well treated since the police station knew the reason of his aggression, not forgiving but being indulgent. Chris was the first to play devil's advocate. "I also send him a list of empty buildings that could be used for deviant androids, but this list must remain confidential so anti-androids won't try to reach them."

"Until a law protects you, yeah, since colleagues won't monitor the entrances."

"It would be counterproductive anyway: the goal is that androids can be free, not protected by humans against other humans."

Gavin turned off the light again and the LED was better covered this time. Satisfied, he turned on the light and leaned on Conrad's shoulders before placing his chin in the robot's hair, still enjoying their softness. CyberLife took very seriously the quality of the materials used. He took the opportunity to read the email, seeing how his partner kept its anonymity while proposing solutions from its point of view as a machine capable of thinking. Some formulas recalled Markus' demands, but the tone was more diplomatic with the RK900, as military.

Gavin checked the time and patted the shoulder of the android:

"Come on, don't hang around, you've worked hard enough and the screening isn't going to wait for us."

"You don't want to use the car?"

"It's the last Friday of the year, there'll be too many people on the road. Let's take the subway, we'll go faster."

Conrad approved this decision. It sent the mail and went to the shelf. Since then, a drawer had been reserved for the android, containing only winter clothes for now. Conrad grabbed the thickest sweater, made with asphalt color, unfolding it and observing how the wool was tight. It hoped the armband would be hidden.

* * *

The magic of Christmas had been replaced by the excitement of the end of the year: there were only thirty hours before the new decade, exciting people around. The decorations were still hanging, becoming banal: when they will remove them in the middle of January, their absence would dig a great hollow.

Conrad wore a long, dark coat and leather gloves, a thick scarf encircling its throat too: it liked to pretend to be a chilly human, melting into the mass in the streets. The umbrella forced them to huddle together and the snow melted on the black canvas, becoming a thick, icy rain. The garlands shone in imitation of snowfall silver, much more poetic and glamorous than reality. Gavin could not wait to get to the movies, as he was anxious to see if this opportunity would be the first of a long series or a total failure.

There was a certain danger in getting an android pretending it was human, but he reassured himself by remembering that he was a detective and, thanks to contacts, he could get himself out of a bad situation.

Before leaving, with a machine naivety that discovered a new role, Conrad had asked him for instructions and rules, unable to act spontaneously and build an attitude just like that. The RK900 needed marks: without data, it could not do anything.

"Can't you just try to imagine being human?"

"I'd have to invent a family first."

"What for? It's not forbidden to talk about your family during a first date, but ours comes after several months, you know, so—"

"Human beings are born of parents: they necessarily have a family, it would help me to be able to act like a human."

Gavin could not stop the android from being so logical: he let him build a whole family context.

Maybe it was thanks to this construction that the robot could take as many initiatives, surprising Gavin: while he was reserving the screening at a terminal at the entrance, despite the RK900's advice, he never organized in advance, Gavin felt the android's hand slip naturally into one of the back pockets of his jeans.

"Are you joking? You're going to fondle my ass here?"

"I'm sorry," apologizes Conrad, who did not immediately understand the humor and was about to withdraw its hand.

"Hey, I didn't say you couldn't."

"Oh. So I let my hand here?"

"Yes, you dumbass."

Gavin laughed frankly: the fact that Conrad was an android made the situation downright fun.

When the android entered in the movie theater, it measured the improbability of the scene: between the front rows, a model was picking up empty popcorn pots, cleaning up the place for the next comers. The RK900 was certainly the first android to sit on one of those famous red chairs to watch a movie. Just watch it. Just to be entertained. An unimaginable activity for its species. The robot smiled, feeling its electrical circuits gaining a few degrees.

Unable to let go of Gavin's hand, Conrad recorded all the details of the room as the lights were still on. Modern, it did not resemble the theater scenes of the past century, but the carmine color remained dominant, lively on the ground, dark on the ceiling, offering shades of nuances sought.

"Damn, chill, Conrad!" Gavin whispered and the android stared at him without understanding. "Your hand. It's going to burn me. If you continue, you will drop the latex and reveal your skin."

Indeed, its palm should be around forty degrees.

"I'll be careful, but I was impressed: the room does not look like the one I saw."

"What did you imagine?"

"Those of 1930."

Gavin allowed himself to burst out laughing as the audience continued to settle in: _Lilas_ would only start in a few minutes.

"Oh yeah, they forgot to call the band to come and play the music. We're almost in 2040, in case your clock messes up."

Under the latex, the ring became silver.

The android was also sensitive to the experience of the lights fading, feeling seized by the joyful exile, confining itself in it with Gavin, passing its arm around his. The RK900 judged the sound too loud for human hearing, and Gavin later told him that it was a decades-old problem.

They tried to speak by signs, taking advantage of moments when the screen was clear enough to see their hands, pointing at a clue that seemed essential to them. The two lovers entertained this game since their first movie night, testing each other, even using forfeits sometimes. The android had won a few times, especially on the most logical films because the fanciful side always escaped it. But they had to put their competition aside for tonight at the risk of looking more at their hands than the movie.

* * *

As soon as they passed the exit doors, still arm in arm, Gavin and Conrad began to share their impressions for they were eager to speak, before proceeding to the credibility of the script.

"I'm a little skeptical, it's interesting to have a woman as the killer but her character is too caricature. It isn't realistic at all."

"Funny: I've the same opinion but not for the same reasons," Gavin gently mocked that need for authenticity in every fiction. "It was nice though, thanks to the situation."

"What situation?"

"Going to see a movie with you."

Nobody had the least suspicion: not a single corner look, not even a whisper, so Gavin already had in mind to check what films would come out in the next few weeks. In a few months, maybe they could even go with Tina, Chris and why not Landru? Gavin had never seen the doctor without his white coat, so he tried to imagine the man in a movie theater. It was difficult, just like imagining an android going to the preview of the latest blockbuster.

Well, it seemed that everything was possible.

Now Gavin could not wait to slip into the bed, to lie beside Conrad without the layer of latex, to see the silver ring again. He would never said it aloud, but he missed this LED like he could miss the sun during a too long and too gloomy winter.

Luckily, the metro arrived after a few moments: Conrad had calculated the travel time, tracing their way to get warm as quickly as possible.

There were many people in the car, but stations passed by and the travelers became scarce.

"How long before we arrive?"

"Four more stations, then we take line A for three stations. If all goes well, we arrive in thirteen minutes."

The subway was running on its tracks. With that speed, the metal carcass was getting rid of the snow, fleeing the flakes that were still lashing. Gavin's fingertips were no longer numb, yet he put one of his hands in a pocket of Conrad's coat, palm against palm. They had gone to the bottom of the last car, a few meters away from the compartment for androids. The window warned 'do not attempt to break the glass' as the same way that bars of a prison can not be sliced.

Sometimes Conrad glanced at the androids on the other side of the window: they did not seem to recognize the RK900 as similar. Conrad did not feel human: it did not want to _become_ human, contrary to what some science fiction writers dared to write in their novels. Did they really see humanity as a unique privilege while the myth of the cyborg existed? The other androids should be able to sit on the seats, be able to mingle with the crowd without being forced to wear any triangle or armband.

Conrad put its head against Gavin's, preferring their relationship as an echo a harmony of species. After all, they were doing well so far.

Gavin cradled like a cat.

"We're going to do this more often. Otherwise I'll go crazy."

"Really?"

"I would miss it too much." Gavin straightened his face and kissed Conrad under its ear. He closed his eyes, at once anxious and happy. "I love you, Conrad."

He felt so relieved to say it out loud at last. As his fingers were shaking, Gavin tightened his grip a little more, but the lack of response did not help him to relax.

"Conrad?"

Why the android was speechless?

When Gavin opened his eyes, the subway lights were off.

An icy fear began to pierce his stomach, striking deeper when he noticed that Conrad was no longer moving: its eyes were unmoving, just like its face. Gavin moved away, pulled his fingers out, free from the dead joints, and as he moved, the RK900's head leaned forward, as if the muscles just gave up.

The detective was trying to fight the wave of anguish that was emerging in his throat but he remembered the words of Amelia Kort: _the last delay was caused by the tragic event of Friday night. Think that the delay just before was during early October._ This tragic event was one week ago.

"Fuck."

The passengers were trying to look at each other, only lit by lampposts in the distance. They felt like space-castaways who were looking, trembling, civilized galaxies too far away into the inaccessible galaxy.

Gavin got up as well and, unsurprisingly, saw that the androids' LEDs were off. The absence of these stars reinforced the impression of nothingness that engulfed them.

It was not possible: the subway was coming to a terminus, yes, but it was not the Roxburry station! It was not the same station!

With a desperate reflex, Gavin grabbed his cell phone and noticed that it was off as well. He insisted on the start button but the screen remained dark.

"Does any phone work?"

His voice sounded too loud under the steel ceiling but the question, almost an order, was heard: the passengers checked their phone. The sad truth was no cellphone could work right now.

People had of course remembered the news of last Friday and began to be afraid too.

Gavin was thinking until the doors opened on a green halo.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We apologize for the inconvenience, we will fix this technical problem as soon as possible."

The technician android entered the car, sweeping the scene with this chaotic light.

The detective froze when he saw the movements, the gait: maybe his relationship with an android put him on the road, or it was thanks to a justified paranoid access, but at first glance, Gavin understood: FE700 was not a machine. It was a human being wearing the model uniform and had a fake LED glued to his temple.


	7. Disguised Nature

It took me more than two months to write this chapter and I'm sorry! I was stuck for several points (the conversation with Fowler in particular) and I wasn't satisfied, besides I wanted to participate for the DBH Rare Pairs Week and I started working in a publishing house, so during the first weeks, I was exhausted.  
Anyway! I never celebrate Valentine's Day, since I hate this holiday, but post this chapter 7 this way is like a way to make me forgive and tell you, to all those who support me, thank you.

* * *

How could a beautiful evening end in such shitty way?

Gavin asked himself this question in a loop while the absence of his weapon weighed heavily on his belt. His cell phone was not working anymore, otherwise he would have sent a message to Tina for a team to move in and help them, except that the EMP had touched all the machines, including Conrad, leaving him in front of a man who had disguised himself as an android.

The RK900 would certainly have kept quiet to survey the sequence of events, but Gavin did not want to take any chances with this danger. In fact, he preferred to be the one who would take by surprise.

"Detroit police! Step back!" The passengers reacted to the order with panicky hiccups, then Gavin stared at the FE700 that had not moved. If it was an android, even deviant, it could keep its stoicism, but a human being would not fail to betray himself. "Go to the other side and stay away from everyone."

"Sir, there's a technical problem that I've to fix, let me go to it so the wagon—"

"How can you work while all androids are disabled?"

The passengers finally noticed that the police officer's neighbor was not moving, insensitive to what was happening. The idea that a man was already hurt paralyzed them with anxiety.

The FE700 tried to move forward.

"You stay where the fuck you are!"

The technician pointed its lamp at Gavin, and then pointed the acid beam at the RK900. Everyone could see the staring gaze that no light could upset.

"Your lamp on the ground, now. And you put your hands up!"

"Is it an android?"

The technician kept the lamp towards the lifeless body. This simple question confirmed the detective's doubts.

"Yeah. _He_ is an android."

The technician did not try to contradict him.

Misunderstanding then succeeded to anxiety: what was an android doing in this wagon? Without any recognizable sign? So far from its fellows?

Some passengers began to scrutinize the technician wearing the blue band, not to mention its LED, suddenly understanding the doubts of the detective.

The natures had been disguised, inverted.

One of the witnesses had kept his finger on the start button on his cell phone and, when the phone vibrated, he gave a cry of surprise, causing a wave of panic and bursts:

"My cell's working again!"

This explanation could have reassured the passengers, but at the same time, the one wearing the FE700 uniform dropped the lamp and ran toward the detective.

Bouncing on the steel floor, the light clung to different points, blinding the passengers who were trying to understand through the confused noises, so violent that they hurt just hearing them.

The light had stabilized and they saw that the black silhouette of the detective was taking over the white one. Although surprised, Gavin had managed to resist the technician's assault on seeing the trocar's blade in time. Landru was right.

To know this detail had certainly helped the policeman.

The tip had squeezed into his arm for several inches, but even then, Gavin had felt lucky: if he had not managed to counter the aggressor, that dart would have stuck in his chest with enough force to impale his heart or a lung.

Despite the confusion, the owner of the cellphone that was functioning again had the reflex to call the police.

In his rage for survival, Gavin was no longer aware of the blood, however sticky against the fabric of the sweater, flowing in his sleeve. The pain was also muted.

With his valid fist, he repeatedly hit the technician's jaw, continuing despite the crack that he had heard. After all, it could have come from a plastic shell or a bone.

The blood that this enemy mouth was spitting was scarlet, without the slightest hint of indigo. The hue was recognizable even under green light.

Because of the fight, the LED dropped from the temple.

Now, Gavin had no doubt about the culprit's identity and knowing that the man, unlike an android, could feel the pain did not stop him: seized by a violent survival instinct, he slammed the killer to the ground and continued to hit.

He did not want to control him anymore: he wanted to knock him out.

* * *

Its programs started again, filling its still obscure field of vision with numbers and information. Its model number appeared, then its serial number and, curiously, its name, which was as important as the technical information.

What the android had before the eyes gradually became clearer as the calibration stabilized.

Conrad was trying to understand what had happened.

It was December 31, 2039, and it was nearly one in the morning. It and Gavin had come out of the movie theater after 9PM, then they took the subway, and—

And the RK900 was now facing Chris in an interrogation room at the police station.

"Officer Miller?"

"How do you feel, Conrad?"

The android saw him, heard him, but some programs were protesting and needed to get restarted. What was impossible at the moment, this face-to-face worried the android too much—

Under the make-up, the LED was red. Conrad looked suspiciously at the one-way mirror.

"It's all right, Conrad," Chris put a hand on the wrist of the android who was not handcuffed. On the other hand, Conrad was still wearing its gloves, which had been noticed by the policeman. "There's nobody. I asked that we be left alone. Do you remember what happened?"

Conrad trusted Chris, but it could not tell him that Gavin and it had gone to the movies: this kind of date was not encouraged by the law and the android did not know if the room where it was was a bad sign.

"No," the robot lied. "Where's Gavin?"

"He's at the hospital."

The LED remained in a panicked red, so the officer went on quickly:

"Nothing serious: he got hurt in the fight—"

"With whom did he fight?"

"You were both in the subway, on line F. You really don't remember?" Conrad remained silent. "The subway broke down, just like last week. A technician came to fix the problem."

"A FE700?"

"No, a human being."

The RK900 now included:

"Of course. A human being doesn't stop because of an EMP, which allowed him to act."

It began to make some assumptions aloud, thinking, but Chris interrupted the android so he could to explain the sequence of events:

"Gavin quickly understood as well, and he started fighting with him. One of the passengers managed to call us and we did as fast as possible. Gavin isn't seriously injured," the policeman repeated, "but the trocar has stuck in his forearm and the doctors are checking, just in case he was hurt somewhere else."

"And the human who pretended to be an FE700?"

"At the hospital too." Conrad raised its eyebrows. "Gavin made— a little mess— No, Conrad, you'd better erase that smile."

Despite this advice, Chris also struggled against a little grin.

His colleague was now reassured and the officer needed explanations:

"Conrad, would you care to explain to me why you're— like this?"

Artificial intelligence pretended not to understand, fixing the human without a word. Chris pointed to the clothes and, at last, showed its temple:

"How did you do for your LED?"

Again, a silence.

"Conrad, nobody's behind this mirror, but everyone has seen you dressed like that. You were taken directly to the police station and, for an hour, people haven't stopped talking. Luckily, it's the evening and the team isn't complete—" Chris sighed. "It's better if you tell me, then we'll try to find a solution so your secret won't—"

"That's okay."

"That's okay?"

Conrad could not be tired in the strict sense of the term; its memory could have locked up all the secrets of the whole world, its tongue would have never been tempted to formulate the slightest one, but tonight it was obvious it and Gavin had taken a risk. Without this stroke of bad luck, no one would have known anything about them, but they had played and they had lost.

So why keep lying when the obvious will be known?

"That's okay if the whole police station knows. We went out to the movies. Androids can't be mere visitors, so Gavin helped me to make me look like a human being. The disguise was successful. Just like the killer's one, but we were unmasked both."

Conrad wanted to be honest.

Chris was not really surprised: he lowered his head, sympathetic, searching for his words.

At the same time, Conrad received a message from Gavin warning it that they were leaving the hospital.

" _And if you're not awake when I arrive, I'm going to pick you up in the limbo of computers."_

Chris did not witness the blue LED again, but he guessed the android's relief when he informed him. The officer then got up to go out, ready to welcome the team.

Once alone in the room, Conrad reassured its partner by answering his message, assuring him that it only needed a few reboots. The most dramatic thing was that the disguise had been noticed.

Gavin had no illusions, of course, and had expected this news: a RK900 that hides its LED and swaps its uniform for common clothes, it was curious enough for people start talking.

The detective had time to think while a mechanical arm placed the stitches on his wound. As the thread passed beneath his anesthetized skin, he had imagined questions that would not accept a single lie. Instead of calming him, the blows Gavin had already given had made him impulsive: fifteen stitches or not, colleagues or not, he would fight again if he had to.

Luckily, it was Chris who greeted him, at the police station's entrance, with a sorry look. The rest of the team headed for the car where the man was posing as an android, allowing them to chat.

The two colleagues had not had the opportunity to exchange a single word since Conrad had told the truth to Chris. In any case, for the detective, there was nothing to say and, for his part, the officer dared not broach the subject.

Gavin had crossed his arms, warning of his boiling mood, but he quickly abdicated when Chris handed him a pack of cigarettes. The injured man was not allowed to smoke at Henry Ford Hospital and, now that he was thinking about it, a cigarette would do him more good than anesthetic that only worked between his elbow and his wrist.

"It's mean to exploit my weaknesses like that," the detective commented, lighting the lighter.

"I can be even viler: there's a hot coffee waiting for you inside, but as long as your cigarette is lighted, you aren't allowed to go inside."

"You sick bastard."

They exchanged a laugh, a first which, despite the diverted glances, was encouraging.

Then, on a whisper, Chris added:

"Not to mention Conrad who, I'm sure, can't wait for you."

Finally, Gavin crushed the scorched cigarette under his sole and entered the police station, not even trying to justify himself.

The RK900 was still waiting in the interrogation room. Chris had advised it to stay away from colleagues who would certainly harass the robot with questions. At least, in this cold room, saturated with shades of steel, the android was quiet and had revived some programs now stable.

The door unlocked and Gavin entered, leaving Chris standing guard for a few minutes in front of the entrance. Without a word, Conrad stood up and, for once, the human was faster than the android: Gavin grabbed it at the waist and brought it against him.

Chest against chest, Conrad noted how fast the heart muscle beat. Unless it was the thirium pump that, under the emotion, after the EMP, worked with a chaotic rhythm.

Of joy, Conrad would have lifted its partner, but the wound restrained that desire. The android had noticed that a cut was on Gavin's temple. An insignificant wound that did not even need a bandage, just like those of his damaged fingers.

Carefully, the android rolled up the sleeve and observed the bandage wrapping around the forearm. Although clean, a slight ruddy imprint stained the bandage. Underneath, the skin was clean, but a hematoma would surely spread in a few days, especially if the detective had hit repeatedly.

"Hey, stop making that face and calm your LED. It was me who was worrying. The EMP really screwed you up—"

Conrad rested its head on the man's shoulder, closing its eyes to avoid the sight of the wounds. The robot preferred to concentrate its senses on the valid hand caressing its hair, the other being too numb by the sedatives.

"No side effects, by the way?"

"None. I restarted some programs, and everything seems to work properly."

Repercussions could come later, because, like humans, the pains of the machines could appear after certain latency.

The conclusion of this evening had almost been fatal for both.

Although accustomed to the body that never shook, Gavin understood the disorder of the android, so he wrapped his neck.

"You stupid tin can, I was really scared. You're the best CyberLife's prototype, you can't be put down because of a simple EMP. You can't be broken, period."

"Because my memory contains memories with Fathia?"

"Not only, dumbass."

Conrad said that to tease him. And to make him repeat a word it had heard just before sinking into a state of breakdown.

"Before I went out, I thought I heard something. You said something important."

"I was just complaining about the trip that was too long."

"No, I heard something else."

"I don't know, I just remember that I couldn't wait to get home."

"You really don't want to say it again?"

"Well, too bad you didn't listen."

"I was listening!"

Gavin did not intend to repeat himself, not in the same evening anyway.

Pulling back a bit, he exclaimed:

"Un-fucking-believable, I just caught the killer and you don't even want to talk about job! The EMP has really changed you!"

The detective was lightly slapped on the back, making him laugh.

Another burst of voices echoed from the corridor and he jumped. Gavin had recognized Tina's voice.

Chris was standing in front of the entrance and he asked his colleague a few moments, but the door slid.

Gavin noticed that Tina was wearing a coat over a pajama top and jeans. For her part, the young woman saw the bandage at the first glance. She opened her eyes wide:

"Holy shit!"

"Stop believing that I was dead!"

Tina wanted to laugh, but a small tear escaped on her cheek.

She brandished a finger under Chris' nose, threatening:

"Couldn't you tell me he was fine? You only told me 'Gavin was attacked in the subway'! I've imagined the worst!"

Officer Miller made his _mea culpa_ : he had not wanted to terrify her with his brief message, but they had had so much to do since the call of the witness—

During their discussion, Tina did not notice Conrad's presence, not immediately. She first confused the android with a discreet witness with vaguely familiar traits, at most.

At the end of the corridor, a man had just appeared. He would not have attracted much attention either if he had not been handcuffed and surrounded by two PC200s and a human policeman, not to mention his swollen jaw and eyelids that caught the eye.

It was Samuel Brooks.

Without his injuries, his appearance would not have evoked any originality: a size and weight in the average, brown hair like the majority of Americans, eyes of a common hue, simple features. The kind of look used by CyberLife to create androids capable of blending into the crowd. No wonder the disguise of Samuel Brooks only required the imitation of an LED, especially if the uniform of the FE700 seemed cut for his silhouette.

The policemen stepped aside to let the killer, accompanied by the three guards, pass by.

As she moved, Tina hit Conrad with her elbow and recognized the metallic stature. She jumped and stared at it, stared at its neutral clothes, stared at its temple.

"Conrad?"

Surprise had strangled her, making her almost dumb.

Gavin sighed. Samuel Brooks would wait.

Although they were not close, Gavin appreciated the support of Chris who, on the first floor, closed the door of the old room, the one small enough to allow Gavin to speak.

The detective began to explain the situation to Tina: how his relationship with the RK900 had evolved, how it had become something concrete, bringing him to the risk of tonight. His own words surprised him: they were so _natural_ , so easy to pronounce.

After all, only the crimes were hard to confess, and there were none.

But if Chris and Landru had shown only surprise, Tina kept a stunned silence. She could not find anything to answer that.

She needed Chris and the RK900 to go out and leave her with her friend.

When the door closed, her shy first question was blown:

"Gavin, are you all right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean— you started— going out with Conrad in October. Fathia had been killed, Hank"s death anniversary was coming—"

Tina was sitting on the edge of a table covered with dust, her head tucked in her shoulders, her eyes lowered to the linoleum. This green tint of water was so bland, many years old.

"Fuck, Tina, yeah, I was hurt by those deaths, but I was not going to top myself, I kept living! Like everyone else!"

The young woman knew that her friend was unable to control his anger: he was so impulsive that she was ready to hear all kinds of insults. For the last four years they had been working together, there had been many spats and Tina knew how the detective could react.

On the other hand, Gavin had never been grudging with his colleague and this point was likely to change.

Tina raised her hands, asking him to lower him voice at least:

"Gavin! Calm down, it's just that— you hate andro—"

"Hated."

"Ok, you _hated_ androids and a year later, you— I just want to make sure you're not with Conrad because he's a machine that doesn't get old and can't die."

Like a few months ago, Tina rejected the idea that robots were able to feel. To focus on Gavin's condition was to dismiss this subject.

"Tina," the tone had come down, "do you really want to do some fucking armchair psychology? Alright, let's go: are you sure you're not trying to reassure yourself when you say Conrad's only a machine? About what you did to your AX400? What was the name you gave her already?"

"Carol."

She squeezed her lips: this barb was painful.

"With everything we see in this job, with all the bullshit I take," Gavin continued, "do you really think I'd have waited so long before turning to an android? That I really want something without free will? BL100s are for sale since over five fucking years!"

"It's precisely because you despise those buyers that I don't understand!"

"Don't compare me to them. I didn't buy Conrad. I never asked him anything. I thought I was clear, Tina: it was _he_ who came closer, when it wasn't part of his duties, when there was no fucking link with the investigations!" He calmed down for a moment, inhaling deeply. "I'm going to be honest, Tina: at first, it really sucked. Fathia had just been killed, and I'd have preferred to find she had troubled with a client instead that pedophile network. Frankly, I was sick with Murphy's law during this investigation."

Having the RK900 as his colleague was his only comfort, in addition to be the only chance to solve the case so quickly: if Conrad had not recorded the tattoo of Fathia, it would have taken months for the detective to avenge his friend.

And his opinion on androids would never have changed.

"You can't blame me for not hating androids anymore, Tina, not after what happened."

"That's not what I mean, Gavin."

"Hold on, I'm not only talking about Conrad; I talk also about these kids. Do you really think people saw androids? We all saw children, Tina. They all had LEDs, but we were all touched as if they were human. Don't even try to tell me the opposite. With all this bullshit, I was tired. I'm still mad at Connor for his mess, I'm still mad at Hank for his giving up, I tried to be mad at Fathia too for saying nothing, but if I had not been so stupid, she'd have told me about this network, and today she'd be alive. Maybe she'd be with the android she wanted to adopt. This thought really hurt me."

Tina nodded, showing that she understood.

"We wondered if emotions felt by the machines were genuine, Tina, remember? We'll never have confirmation, but I still noticed that the last success of CyberLife was pretty weird. I even laughed at him, saying that he was as defective as his predecessor. Except that Connor did not feel anything, Conrad felt _too_ much. You haven't seen him with those kids, Tina, and I don't think that was part of his duties."

"You know as well that CyberLife's people are twisted— Deviance isn't something new."

"Conrad is— different. The deviants who were arrested weren't like him. I don't know a lot of androids, but I'm sure he has nothing in common with others. When I didn't want to think about Fathia or Hank anymore, I was thinking about what he had told me. And then, I asked myself 'why not?'. It started from a curiosity. I wanted to clear my mind, damn, no: I _needed_ to clear my mind."

Tina tilted her head to the side, listening with worrying attention:

"And you started this relationship like that, without discovering if his emotions were real? What if it was CyberLife's crap?"

"You're never safe from meeting a narcissistic pervert or a sociopath, Tina, some people are so fucked up they don't feel the slightest emotion and spend their time lying. And these bastards are yet human. I don't know if Conrad really feels, but he believes in it and it's enough to make him more human than those freaks. He's more human than the bastard we've just caught."

She could not contradict him, but the situation still seemed so strange.

An hour earlier, Chris' message had taken her out of bed, and the fear of losing her colleague had pushed her to come to the police station while she was on vacation until Monday. And now, Tina was learning that her friend had been dating the RK900 since mid-October, the same android that had been harassed because of its resemblance to the RK800.

It was too much to swallow in such a short time—

"In January, it will be three months, Tina, and frankly, I feel good. There are relationships that turn wrong in the first month, but there, on the contrary, the more time passes and the better I feel."

Gavin kept his arms crossed; a posture that was the equivalent of a cat's round back.

In a way, he could not blame her: Tina had heard him so many times criticizing androids, especially Connor, not to mention that he had asked for her help to ridicule the RK900— His relationship with Conrad was so unexpected.

Gavin knew he had to deal with dubious reactions; he was just disappointed that this friend was the first to doubt—

"Even Chris reacted well, so if you could do the same."

Gavin did not even wait for her answer and he left the room, slamming the door.

* * *

Some policemen had tried to make Samuel Brooks talk, but it was to believe that the crust on his lips had sealed his silence. When he opened his mouth, it was only to eat and drink just what was needed.

He did not ask for anything.

His bruises had begun to dislodge, leaving Gavin insensitive: this bastard had tried to stab him, so he was not going to apologize for exploding his lip.

Thanks to the witnesses who confirmed that the technician had attacked first, the detective was not accused of excessive zeal, just _slightly_ excessive self-defense.

Yet in the morning, he was summoned to Fowler's office.

With a serious face, the captain asked him for his version of the facts and Gavin answered with honesty. It soon became clear that the testimonies were similar to the policeman's story.

Despite all the Detective Reed's flaws, Jeffrey Fowler knew that lying was not on the list. Gavin was, on the contrary, endowed with an almost crippling honesty. This request had one aim: to make sure that the detective had not followed a track without informing his captain.

The captain knew, of course, that the android had been brought back last night, the LED concealed and wearing human clothes, while its partner was being stitched in the hospital, and Fowler had only one theory for this mystery: it was a plan to lure the killer.

"Reed, did you have any doubts about Samuel Brooks?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't know him. I met him last night, he and his fucking trocar."

"So why the RK900 was wearing this disguise?"

Now Fowler had no explanation and Gavin took a deep breath.

After a medical examiner and two colleagues, it was up to the captain to be in the secret.

"It happened totally by chance, Captain," Gavin assured. "It was an— evening. And Conrad and I were in the car that Brooks was aiming for."

Before hearing a new question, Gavin, with the brutality of a boxer who sends an uppercut to end the round, swayed the truth in the face of his captain.

Fowler froze, sounded.

"What do you mean by 'more than job partners'?"

"He's still my job partner, but not only," Gavin repeated before mumbling "if Conrad was here, he'd give you the definition as if you were an idiot, something like 'people who form a couple'."

Fortunately the cup of tea rested on the desk, as Fowler's hands became feverish.

The captain was of a voluble nature. Even when his wife was giving birth to their first child, he had been inspired enough to yell at doctors who did not inform him quickly enough.

Then again, while his jaw should have been paralyzed with surprise, Jeffrey Fowler got angry:

"Holy fucking hell, how are they programming their androids at CyberLife?! The first one pushed one of the best lieutenants to suicide, and the other one is making romantic evenings with the detective, the same detective who, three months before, would have made blown up their tower to get rid of all the machines!"

Gavin remained stoic, letting his captain fumble as much as he wanted until he stopped and began to massage his temples, muttering.

Outside, no colleague could hear the conversation: the captain's shouts could be observed, never listened to. The glass was designed to let no sound, only vibrations, and they were almost daily.

From his desk, Chris glanced around but could not understand what was happening; he only suspected that Fowler was now aware about Gavin and Conrad's story.

After a moment, the captain wondered:

"Damn, Reed, did they drug you so that you could bat for the other team like that?"

Gavin never thought he would hear that question one day, he who had always been bisexual.

"They didn't use drugs, they just sequestrated me for a whole weekend and forced me to recite the three laws of robotics with them, but that's fine," he retorted, maintaining his composure. "More seriously, Captain—"

The detective tried to be less vehement than with his colleague, but he used the same arguments, before Fowler raised his hand to interrupt him:

"Reed. I don't care about my men's private life, as long as they stay on the legal side of the fence, but you're aware that Conrad's nature forces me to get involved with it."

"I know. The famous RK900, CyberLife's property, and the contract that requires you to send them reports and report bugs—"

"They can call him back for any reason they want."

"Conrad won't go back."

"It's not him who decides, Reed, and it's not us either. Conrad belongs to them."

The captain inhaled deeply, uneasy.

His men could bankrupt themselves at the Eden Club, bang their PL600 or AX400, flirt with their fridge or computer, Fowler could not care less as long as the work was done, and Detective Reed and his partner, now 'more than job partners', were a great team.

But the RK900 was an android bequeathed by CyberLife and it was not intended for married life.

In reality, Fowler had neglected most of the orders given by the robotics company: the contract required him to monitor the android closely and take daily notes, but he was captain of a large and active city, not the chaperone of a fucking android.

As long as Detective Reed did not report any problems, Fowler only sent laconic "nothing to report" to the RK900's creators.

But there was something else:

"Reed, I talked to my superiors. With the affair with these children and Fathia, and now the one with Samuel Brooks we still have to question, they think it's time for your detective plate on your desk to be replaced by another with 'Sergeant Reed' on it."

Gavin had risen in a jump. He did not dare to smile, not yet.

"And you will refuse because of my relationship with Conrad?"

"No, I won't refuse because of your relationship with Conrad. First, because I really think that you deserve this rank, then, if I refuse now, they'd ask me why and the fact would be known in no time. I repeat: your private life doesn't concern me as long as you remain in the legality. Now, this is a detective android that still belongs to CyberLife— so it's better to delay things and fix some problems before."

The detective resumed his position in front of the captain:

"Hey! All cases have been handled properly, there's absolutely no impact on the police station's life!"

"I know, Reed, and that's really the point that reassures me. Except that the first blunder had happened and we must act."

"Fuck—"

"No one had noticed anything about your relationship, so either you're both unparalleled agents, either all the cops in this police station are completely incompetent. But things have changed: CyberLife must know about the deviance of their android especially. The risks are too big if I pretend to close my eyes now."

Gavin understood.

They were facing dead ends: even if the relationship with Gavin remained unobtrusive, Conrad's deviance was already suspected and his creators would know it. The best prototype had failed and the contract between the police and CyberLife required this type of reporting.

Fowler had no desire to send this report, but with his responsibilities, he had to act professionally and forget about sympathy.

Hands clasped, he finally said:

"We can have a few days, Gavin. I'd like to act as if nothing had happened, but it isn't possible. What we can do, however, is to think for a few days, I instant: a _few_ days. Not a week. Tonight's the New Year and tomorrow's Sunday, so we could set out limit for— Wednesday for you to find a solution. On my side, all I can do is insist that Conrad, deviant or not, is willing and performs his duties properly."

"CyberLife won't give a fuck," Gavin said. Deviance was still the machines' plague: colleagues could ask for Conrad's dismissal just for that. All of a sudden, hope prevailed, the name of an ally: "Mark Spencer! Conrad had contacted him not long ago and he already answered him!"

"A politician is more likely to reason with CyberLife, yeah. Let's do things in the right order: ask Spencer for help and as soon as he answers, I'll inform my superiors and CyberLife. Laws are being arranged, it's not the same as last year—"

Between Brooks and now, Spencer's help, Gavin would not see the year end, nor the news begin.

Conrad and he would have a lot to do.

Sincere, the captain added:

"I'm sorry, Reed."

"It's okay, captain. It was a risk, we took it, so we must assume now." _And finally face these CyberLife assholes._

* * *

Gavin was watching the date and time on the dashboard before Conrad, who had been driving from the police station, turned off the ignition.

December 31, 2039, 7PM 48.

He could not believe Detroit would spend the night partying while he and the RK900 were going to work on the Samuel Brooks affair, not forgetting Mark Spencer's e-mail.

As the engine stopped, Gavin launched:

"Next month, the guys at the station will call me Sergeant Reed."

With a mechanical gesture, he rubbed his forearm. It had become a sort of war wound that had accelerated his ascent.

"I knew it wouldn't be long," Conrad replied with a sincere smile. "I remember the conversation we had, shortly before we were getting together, when I told you that you were a very good detective and that you deserved to be a sergeant." He leaned over to kiss him before adding "and I remember saying that I'll call you Sergeant Reed when you finally call me by my first name."

"And for an android, a promise is a promise."

"CyberLife has in fact designed great programs for lying, but with you, it's true, a promise is a promise. For when would it be?"

"As soon as you're saved."

"Oh—"

The LED went yellow, a color that was not uncommon since the robot had lit up in the interrogation room, facing Chris.

On the way, Gavin had reported to the RK900 the conversation with Captain Fowler, cursing this contract between the Detroit police and CyberLife by always associating it with "fucking".

Of course, Conrad had approved the idea of contacting Mark Spencer: the politician had already responded without delay for the Florent le Dantec's case, supporting the project to defend the man at best, and his rapid response had proved his enthusiasm.

After all, to be contacted by an android, although still anonymous, was a major asset in his campaigns: if he could help him now, the gesture would support the speeches he had been holding for months. And if he could not help them, Spencer would not only decline several way for apology in his answer, Gavin was sure, and would rather pull a few strings.

This possibility made Gavin more optimistic than Conrad who mostly saw the dangers.

In the elevator, the detective suddenly asked:

"Do you think politicians work on Sundays too?"

"Androids in this area work tirelessly. If Mark Spencer has an alert for my messages, we'll have an answer tomorrow. I'm already writing an email."

"The progress of technology." Mumbled the human, both envious of this ability to be able to multitask at the same time and happy to have a simple biological brain.

"Gavin, you shouldn't be involved in this case: Monday, you'll interview Samuel Brooks, while I'll take care of finding a solution. This is my own survival, and you can't rebel against laws and earn a rank at the same time, so don't waste this opportunity."

"Conrad, I'm staying with you. If Spencer wants to meet you, I'll be here. If he can help you, I'll support him. And if he can do nothing— fuck, do you really think that your chances of survival rest solely on Spencer's abilities? You forgot the most important point: I love you."

"Ah! That's what you said in the subway, then."

"I don't know, according to your statistics, what are the chances that this is what I said in the subway?"

Gavin had turned sharply away. Only with this reaction, Conrad did not need to insist. The android grabbed its partner's hand and lifted it to its lips, kissing the hollow of his palm, putting as much love into it as a sentenced to death would have done.

Even Samuel Brooks, as a human being, will be treated with more leniency.

As he entered the apartment, Conrad put its arm around Gavin's neck:

"And what a human like you can do against CyberLife? A detective sergeant-to-be?"

"I'm a cop, we like to find some dirty stuff and make scandals. I could suspect them for knowing more than they had said about the traffic of the ZK200s, could open an investigation about the big bosses, and believe me, last prototype or not, they'd have something to deal with for weeks."

"You're evil."

"I like pissing off people."

Conrad doubted that it would be effective, but it was simply humor, the one that makes up fear, because, in reality, Gavin was unable to think about a rescue plan.

The RK900 was wondering if it would join its predecessor in this basement if CyberLife called it back. It hesitated to contact Chloe to give it information, then gave up: the RT600 could not help its fellow, Mark Spencer, however, was the joker of this game.

If Conrad had been sensitive to romance, it could have imagined Gavin trying to recover it, rebuilding its memory— But it was an android so it did not imagine: it was calculating probabilities.

Gavin opened the fridge and picked a beer, the only comfort before starting this busy evening.

"I let you use the computer, once you've sent the mail, we can start working on Sam—"

"I sent the email to Mark Spencer thirty-eight seconds ago."

"Holy fu— Can't you take a breath for five minutes?"

"You know I—"

"It's an expression, Robocop."

Half-exhausted, half-amused, the detective took a seat at his desk and opened the files of the police station network.

When he was younger, Gavin enjoyed the phenomenon of teleworking, like many recently graduated Americans. But being able to work from home shifted the boundaries between professional and private: if the employee was not careful, his computer could become an open door for a tidal wave of daily work, accumulating endless and tiring days.

If Gavin had always been careful not to be overwhelmed by inquiries, he still beat a record: he was with an android that was still struggling to understand the need for a break.

But tonight it was the human who made the decision to work, instead of the android.

"Go to sleep, Gavin, you're exhausted and it shows."

The detective shrugged. Conrad had heard him moan all night because of his arm he could not lean on. Gavin refused to abuse the painkillers prescribed by the hospital, preferring mainly to limit the use of his arm. And then, to think of Brooks' mumbled mouth and his judgment, which will surely be immediate, was a more effective placebo.

"And I know that— Officer Chen's reaction hurt you, so if you want to rest and think about something else."

Gavin took a sip of beer, pretending not to hear.

"I like to work on the files of the assholes who tried to kill me."

"As if it happened to you often," Conrad replied, mimicking a sigh, which made Gavin burst out laughing as he pointed to his shoulder:

"Have I ever explained to you that a dealer tried to stab me?"

"Two or three times already. The first time was when I massaged your back. I haven't forgotten."

"Ah, right."

Sometimes the android reminded its partner that its feelings were born very early. And to say that Gavin had taken days to understand— Without the RK900's admission, he would not have noticed anything for weeks, actually.

The man jumped when he heard a firecracker outside and remembered that he was resting tonight. Anyway, he had much more to settle than turbulent kids during the New Year.

"It's funny, you don't use so much bragging for the scar on your nose."

"When it's healed," Gavin added, raising his forearm, "I'll only wear t-shirts from April to October. And you'll hear about it as you were out during the fight!"

"I hope to be here to see that."

"Conrad. You're not dying, so stop."

The android promised to make an effort until they get the politician's response, then leaned toward the screen to consult the record of Samuel Brooks.

A new firecracker exploded a few meters away, and as the year drew to a close, festive noises multiplied. Gavin and Conrad only paused at midnight to watch the fireworks, hearing more than they could admire them. It had stopped snowing, but the clouds were still threatening: their cotton stomachs reflected the festive colors down below.

"Remind me to take some days off for the next New Year, Robocop. For 2041, we'll do a real thing, with Chris and if Tina still sulks, she'll keep Damian for the evening."

"I'll remind you this."

* * *

For a killer caught in the act, Samuel Brooks kept an admirable calm.

Gavin blamed the anesthetics, knowing well that they were no longer effective and that the painkillers were not strong enough to make this inmate high.

It was the 2nd of January and things were going to rush.

It was nearly 11AM, and Gavin's anger had not abated since the aggression; on the contrary, he had worn it all weekend. Conrad had repeatedly reminded him that no hit would be allowed.

"Self-defense could pass in the subway, but not in the interrogation room, Gavin. You must remember it."

In any case, his forearm would be in pain, so it even dissuaded him from hitting the wall. Instead, the detective was pacing the corridor, ruminating.

Conrad kept its hands crossed behind its back, disappointed: the android had just told its partner that it had received Mark Spencer's answer. The e-mail was quite promising as the politician wanted to talk to them during the lunch break, inviting them to Park.

"He didn't say if it was possible, or if it was impossible: it's a fucking invitation in a luxury restaurant, Conrad, so why would I be happy?"

"His answer doesn't mean yes, it's true, but it doesn't mean no neither."

Conrad glanced toward the door of the interrogation room, understanding that the killer was the real source of this mood.

"Let's go interrogate him again, together," the RK900 suggested. Once, it would had asked permission to accompany him with extreme politeness.

Gavin still looked upset, unable to control his anger, and it took him several seconds before he agreed to return to the room.

"If I could, I swear I'd force-feed him with all the rails of Detroit subway."

"I really admire your imagination when it comes for threats."

And the android was sincere: in the absurdity of this wish, there was a certain logic that seduced the machine.

When the RK900, recognizable by his two-color uniform, closed the door, Samuel Brooks stared at it. The irony of inverted natures had escaped no one.

The edema had almost disappeared now; the crusts of blood and bruises were the last marks of the fight. A hematoma was trying to play with the poetry of blue and purple all along his jaw. The hump deformed the line between the ear and the chin of the man.

Conrad wondered if Samuel Brooks did not want or could not eat.

When the android settled in front of him, the killer tried to sketch an expression: smile or grimace, it was difficult to know with that crooked mouth.

"You're an android, then."

"You're a human being, then," the machine retorted, surprising Samuel Brooks since that audacity was quite unusual for a robot.

"Conrad, I let you start again from the beginning."

The android nodded and, relying on its own data rather than the tablet in front of Gavin, stated:

"Your name's Samuel Brooks, you were born on March 13, 2011 in Colstrip, and you live at 520 Harvey Street. You've been working in the Detroit transport company for a year. Do you confirm?"

"Yes."

He had already confirmed this information earlier, on the first recording.

Conrad asked the same questions: where was he on the evening of Friday 23 December? Did he admit he tried to stab Detective Reed? Why was he wearing a FE700 uniform?

"And why did you wear human clothes?"

The interrogated asked. Gavin realized that his partner was so intriguing; Samuel Brooks had become more talkative. Not yet chatty, but it was a better start.

The detective exchanged a glance with his teammate, leaving Conrad the choice between answering or ignoring Brooks' question.

"To fit in."

It was laconic, accentuating the killer's curiosity.

"To fit in?"

"You've certainly heard about deviant androids who want to have their place in society?"

Samuel Brooks nodded.

"A detective android who wants to integrate," recapitulated the criminal, "it's like seeing someone who knows the effects of a poison but still wants to taste it. Somehow, I envy you."

"Brooks, we don't give a shit about your philosophy," Gavin reminded, feeling that the subject was digressing. "You've your answer now, so answer our question. Why were you wearing an android uniform?"

"To fit in." He stared at the android, without making fun of it. "To be discreet, to fade into the background."

"Why?"

"So I could kill these people. Kill as much as I can without being suspected."

"So you admit having killed."

A brief nod confirmed as simply as if the man had just confirmed that he was from Montana.

Gavin was more surprised than Conrad by the ease of these confessions: Samuel Brooks had remained silent since his arrest, not even opening his mouth to ask for a lawyer or to lie and declare himself innocent, and now that he acknowledged that he was the one who used the trocar, the detective was almost disappointed.

Was the android really enough to make Brooks so honest?

"Have you committed any other crimes prior to Friday, December 23?" The RK900 asked, easily supporting Brown's brown pupils. The eyelids of flesh rarely blinked, and this indolent rhythm gave the appearance of a machine to the man.

Samuel Brooks was still young and had a clean criminal record, at least until now.

Gavin and Conrad had not yet interviewed Amelia Kort and her team, but they would learn that Samuel Brooks was a discreet, even charming person.

"No, I haven't."

"Do you have any conflict with your boss, Mrs. Kort, or one of your colleagues? Did you try to incriminate the company for which you work?"

"No, I didn't."

Gavin sighed loud enough to express his boredom: he wanted real answers, he wanted to know why five people had lost their lives because of this freak, why he had almost been killed too.

The RK900 was more patient and it then asked:

"Did you try to create a conflict between humans and androids, so police could go on the track of a deviant FE700?"

"Not really, but I wouldn't mind."

"You didn't study medicine, so how—"

"How did I get the trocar? How did I know where to hit?"

Samuel Brooks burst out laughing.

"Internet. You would be surprised to read what you can fin."

"You're not the first to know that all the bomb recipes are on the Dark Web, Brooks."

The scarcely assumed pride of the criminal was unbearable.

"I know. People no longer rob banks, they hack online accounts, technology's a real boon for everyone. I found very precise surgery and forensic courses on the net. I just had to train on small animals before tackling the man."

"Alive?"

"Yes and no. It's ironic, huh? You can buy a trocar on the internet without having to justify it, but if you want to buy a whole chicken, you've to go to a farm outside the cities."

Conrad was the only one of the two police officers to listen carefully to Brooks, putting a profile with all these words. The RK900 leaned forward slightly:

"Your victims had nothing in common, it was a matter of chance and you killed those who were accessible. The mass murderers want to provoke society, and your message, _'red blood, blue blood, both will flow'_ , proves this intention. You even dare to bring a PL600's head to the police station car park without worrying about surveillance cameras."

"Wonders of technology," Brooks repeated, listening to this quick report and, he had to admit, accurate.

"Did you have a goal other than scare Detroit and disrupt the end of the year? The period was well chosen."

"I just wanted to shake them a bit, to wake them up. Have you already read _Segregationist_?"

"The Isaac Asimov's short novel? No, I haven't."

"Of course you haven't, CyberLife would never let their androids or their supporters read Asimov. The Nazis did the same in their country to better control the people. All tyrannies do that." Brooks slowly shook his head, lamenting those governments that had caused so much harm. Conrad was not surprised by this repartee: this killer was not the first to illustrate his situation with a crime ladder, necessarily becoming infinitely small alongside genocides. But this argument had been so overused by criminals that it no longer worked. "That said, you don't miss much: Asimov was a really bad author and he wrote so much bullshit. Everyone was ecstatic about his vision of the world and the future, when he was all wrong. Today, we no longer make the difference between a human being and a robot, but not in the sense of evolution, on the contrary. When I was born, there were already articles that said we would become sheep, that we'd expect everything to be done for us, that our fall'd be accelerated because of androids, and nobody did anything to stop CyberLife."

"And now, you want to lead a crusade against CyberLife?"

"Against the whole society."

The criminal folded his hands and leaned toward the android:

"Why fit into this society? You're either scorned or feared, you'll never be accepted even without your uniform. It's not just about me: all humans are like that. You'll remain a slave, because we preferred to produce slackers instead smart people, we chose degeneration rather than evolution of our own species. The failure of last year's revolt proves it enough: androids participate in our downfall."

"You've a very negative vision that I don't really share."

Since September 6, when it joined the Detroit police, the RK900 had recorded four thousand two hundred and sixty-three robberies, three hundred and one rapes and sixty-four homicides. With the aggressive dealers, the drunks who spent their nights at the post office, and the far too many domestic disputes, Conrad was not working with the quieter part of Detroit.

And yet, the robot took pleasure in these functions: managing human errors and understanding psychology.

If it could fit in this society, then the RK900 would be free to be with Gavin, to be the equal of Chris, of Dr. Landru— It meant it could live.

A desire that Samuel Brooks could not understand.

Without changing its tone, without betraying any trouble, Conrad added:

"You're a psychopath, an organized killer who lives in fantasy, but your goal's world-wide and you'll never reach it."

"Nor will you ever reach your ideal."

"I don't need the whole society to accept me. Just the loved ones. As for the others, I'll defend myself."

"Then you'll become like me."

Gavin did not like this exchange and he was ready to interrupt it, yet he knew that interfering would have been a lack of respect for the android who replied:

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"We don't become a killer like that," muttered Samuel Brooks. If he had not been handcuffed, he would have approached his hand to his chest. "It's something that's growing in you since childhood, and through the years, it keeps growing. I dreamed for ten years of this first stroke of trocar before actually doing it. It's like a destiny. I knew that I was going to do it, that I'll defend myself one day against this society."

* * *

At a red traffic light, Conrad was thinking about that face-to-face with Samuel Brooks instead of predicting what it would say during the meeting with Mark Spencer.

"I wonder if Jeffrey Dahmer'd have become a serial killer in these days."

This reflection drew Gavin from his thoughts as he watched the icy sidewalks. He stared at his partner, eyebrows raised, trying to figure out where this idea was coming from.

"Jeffrey Dahmer killed seventeen people because of their free will. He was afraid of being abandoned and he was still killing them just as they were about to leave. He also expected them to be totally submissive; this fantasy was so strong that Dahmer even sought to create obedient zombies. He must have been an avid reader of horror literature rather than science fiction, because it'd have been enough to invent the first android."

If the android had facial muscles sensitive to its mood, it would have had a bitter smile.

The proximity of Dahmer, who lived in Milwaukee, and Detroit, made this theory even odder.

"Stop being cynical," Gavin said. "I'm almost forty, so I've the right to be, but you're still young, in a way."

Gavin was trying to reassure his partner. The snow had begun to fall again, slowing the traffic: they were going to spend twenty minutes in this car, and it was out of the question to feel downhearted.

"Conrad, Dahmer and all those serial killers were sick. Like you told this jerk, Brooks, they have unrealizable fantasies and, as they always want more, they end up committing crimes. Dahmer may have abused several androids, but then, one day he'd have started killing humans. Whether today or during the last century, it wouldn't have changed anything."

"You never wanted me to be submissive, you never tried to dissuade me from being free."

"I've already told you: you're an android and that's what bothered me first, I was afraid you'd be— some kind of docile mannequin, without any will. And actually, you can be a pain in the ass, and believe it or not, but I like it a lot."

Conrad relaxed, even laughing.

"I think I already told you, Gavin, but I was very lucky to meet you. I think it's thanks to you that ''ll never end up like Samuel Brooks. I want to be part of this world because I met you, because I met Dr. Landru, Fathia, Chris—"

"You're really destabilized by this bastard."

"It hurts me to admit it, but yes, I am. I lost my confidence during the interrogation. Human psychology is something impressive and, machine or not, the deviants base their mind on their creators' one."

"Fuck him."

"Samuel Brooks didn't have the same luck as me. He assures that he has never been abused, that his parents have never repelled him for someone else, not even for an android, but this hatred has surely been caused by indifference. The absence of blows can be painful—"

Gavin crossed his arms, refusing to show any compassion for a killer. He felt anger beating at his temples.

"Conrad. My father abandoned my mother and me when I was barely three years old. I never saw him again, neither did my mother. He let a deaf young woman take care of a kid, and she had to manage to live and her jobs took a lot of time. I've very few memories with her when I was little: I knew she was there, that she loved me, but she didn't have time to show it. From primary school to high school, I fought with those who made fun of her handicap and called me a monkey. I wanted to kill them, just like any kid persecuted by comrades wants to see dead those who are mean to them, but it was a wish because I was angry. I don't say I had an unhappy childhood, but it wasn't happy either, and I'm not the only one to have had a shitty childhood, some have even lived much worse. And does that give us the right to kill? No, it's not an excuse."

"Stéphane Bourgoin had written something like that."

"The French criminologist?"

"Yes. He said that an overwhelming majority of killers had a difficult childhood, but luckily all abused children don't become criminals."

"So you understand why Samuel Brooks is a bastard. He could've been raped by his own father every night, it wouldn't give him the right to kill either. And his pretty speeches about Nazism made me sick: it's too easy to designate more important crimes to hide his own. Samuel Brooks is a fucking coward."

Out of the corner of its eye, Conrad saw a child slide down the road. The mother knelt beside him and made sure he had nothing.

"Is it wrong to feel compassion then?"

"You're free to feel compassion, Conrad, but don't forget who they are, don't let them take up all your energy and don't ever compare yourself with them."

Gavin recognized that the RK900 had had 'an abused childhood' because of Tina and him, and this joke lighted their conversation a bit. Then, the detective reminded his partner that they were going to meet Mark Spencer, so it was better to avoid asking existential questions now:

"You'll never be like Samuel Brooks, Ted Bundy or any of these guys."

Conrad assured that it would not bring this subject, that it would not even think about it during their meeting. And when the car stopped in the Park car park, the RK900 blocked all its criminology programs and focused only about him, Conrad, a deviant android.

Park was a restaurant already famous when it opened at the beginning of the century, and over the decades, the place had gained prestige.

"I never thought I'd go to a luxury restaurant one day with you," joked Gavin, "while you can't even eat."

"We went to movies and now, Park, I'm flattered."

They laughed and hurried to escape the wet flakes.

The main hall of the restaurant was welcoming, wishing happy new year to customers with banners in huge bunches of flowers in the entrance. The shades of the petals were gilded by curious lanterns: champagne glasses, cognac, cocktail and other variants of glasses were upside down, hanging in the void and, instead of alcohol, a small light bulb shone in each hollow.

The glasses were silent because they were still, but the noises from the animated tables created a perfect illusion. An android, standing a few meters from them, came to greet them, starting by wishing them an excellent year before asking if they wanted to join the bar or to occupy a table.

"We've an appointment with Mark Spencer."

It was enough for the mechanical server to understand and, with a polite gesture, invited them to follow it. The wood of the parquet floor was caramel-colored, but the raw perfume chased away the sweetness evoked, recalling rather the origin of a wild forest.

The lights were so numerous that from the outside and despite the bad weather, Park must look like a firefly.

At the bend of a corridor delimited by tall flowers, the android took the two visitors to a round table where Mark Spencer, accompanied by a human secretary and an android one, was waiting.

Conrad did not know if the politician was defending the machines out of ignorant compassion or if he was really interested in robotics, but in the way that Mark's eyes widened as he read the RK900 printed on the jacket, the android understood.

"The famous RK900!"

"Himself," Gavin whispered, sneering.

"Excuse us, Mr. Spencer, we're late."

"In the political world, ten minutes late, it's half an hour early, don't worry and settle down. You must be the detective Gavin Reed?"

Gavin shook the politician's powerful hand and grimaced when his arm was shaken. Mark Spencer was not a very tall man, but his broad shoulders, bulging torso, and the stoutness beneath were the ingredients of his imposing charisma.

Before talking about Conrad's situation, he thanked them for the trust they granted him, even speaking of honor, of privilege.

"Many politicians have tried to take advantage of last year's event to gain the sympathy of the people: the public opinion was very favorable to Markus, and I did everything to talk with him, which would have worked if the FBI had not interfered and if— Connor hadn't interrupted this move."

Mark Spencer looked down, aware of the resemblance between the RK800 and the RK900.

"Well, I'm not going to preach two allies, nor bother you with a campaign that you must already know, otherwise you wouldn't have contacted me. Explain your story to me."

Gavin preferred to leave Conrad start, proving at the same time the equality that united the man and the robot. Moreover, androids had an infallible memory and were endowed with a sense of neutrality that served narratives, and Conrad explained everything from the early symptoms of its deviance, its feelings towards Gavin as well as the sympathy that it had felt for Fathia or aversion to the Adelbert brothers.

An android placed the glasses ordered during this monologue that the three politicians listened with great interest, the mechanical one taking notes and recording with the permission of its fellow.

Finally, Conrad arrived at the accident when its leg was torn off, the meeting with Connor, the dangers around the CyberLife Tower. The most recent error, the one of the subway, was the most dangerous and Spencer kept a serious look.

"Have you ever been in touch with a significant person working for CyberLife?"

"There's a professor," Gavin said, "Adanna Bontu."

"Oh yes, I know her. A quite cold and austere woman— but very, very high ranking. In which circumstances did you meet her?"

Conrad recounted the visit of this woman who was responsible for recovering the ZK200s.

"It's strange: she's a well-known professor and I didn't think she'd be doing something as simple as picking up androids— and you haven't seen her since?"

"Not even a message from her."

Mark Spencer waved his glass to make the ice cubes turn.

"It's curious, there're many curious things here. I think in particular to— sorry, don't take it wrong, but your relationship for example."

Gavin was already hearing the question, but it was the politician android who asked it:

"Is your relationship platonic or romantic? You don't need to answer, but for the sake of economy, CyberLife doesn't build a PL600 as it builds a WR400. If your relationship's more intimate, CyberLife may have a purpose."

"Owners of AX400s who want to have a physical relationship with their android are obliged to ask technicians. It's very common today, as some technicians even have a servant to change into a partner every week."

"Conrad's a RK900," Gavin said, avoiding answering, not really wanting to talk about his sex life with a politician and a model who was recording what was being said, "CyberLife wanted to reach the top of the line with him, they wanted to him be a complete android, I guess?"

"But for what purpose? It's incoherent: Conrad would have sophisticated programs to express feelings but wouldn't have the right to use them? If we've to deal with CyberLife, I'll use this point, believe me."

Mark Spencer, like all politicians, knew how to keep his insurance, but he did not promise anything to the RK900 and its partner: it would be the first time he would defend an android as a lawyer would do with a client.

Gavin offered to put him in contact with Jeffrey Fowler: the captain knew how to be tactful, but he did not want to act this way, yet, for this report to send to CyberLife, he would certainly need the help of a great speaker.

"Do you plan to contact Professor Bontu as well?"

"Yes, I do. She has certainly worked on Conrad's project and she might provide some answers. I'll keep you informed of all progress."

The RK900 felt its circuits become narrow. Feeling fear was always a phenomenon that made it regret becoming deviant.

To finish on a more positive note, Mark Spencer thanked them for meeting him.

"It mustn't be easy to speak as you did, and I'll do everything to defend you, Conrad, as well as you, Detective Reed."

The politician put down his glass and suddenly asked:

"Have you ever read _Segregationist_ by Isaac Asimov?"

"No, I haven't," Conrad replied. Gavin was also struck by the coincidence. "Why?"

"It's a very short story but so well done with the subject, you should read it, it's— touching. Isaac Asimov was a great man and an exceptional writer, it's a pity he didn't live in our time: he could have changed a lot of things. Read this novel, you too, Detective Reed. Your opinion will tell if you're optimistic or pessimistic."


	8. Hate

The coffee machine shook slightly as it spat a dark jet into the cardboard cup, and the smoke that emanated smelled of bitter mornings. Since the day before, the snow had begun to fall again, darkening all horizons: people were really starting to languish for longer days, first smells of flowers, warmer sun rays—

Even though Gavin loved this jacket he always picked in the last days of September, the thick fabric and leather became really heavy over his shoulders, so he was eager to change for a lighter jacket.

The machine continued to purr, a sound that was daily in the police station, as well as the phone ringtones, notifications from computers, lively discussions—

Suddenly, Gavin heard a throat clearing behind his back.

 _That_ was an unusual noise.

Turning around, the detective faced Lukas Karlsson.

"Hi, Gavin. Oh, sorry," the young man had just noticed in the detective's an eReader, understanding that he had just interrupted his reading, "I thought you were just waiting for the machine to finish."

"Hi, Lukas. It's alright, it's just a— a short novel that I just started."

Their aborted date had left a discomfort that still persisted.

Since this ambiguous evening, the trainee had not dared to do more than greet the detective. The exchanges were nothing more than head signs and short sentences. Back to square one: Lukas not daring to approach Gavin, Gavin preferring to ignore Lukas.

But today, Lukas had gathered enough courage to have a real conversation.

He still had a small crush on the detective, still feeling the sparks that continued to burst beneath his skin, but it did not cause any resentment anymore, no jealousy. And Lukas wanted to make it clear for both of them.

"I've heard that you were going to be sergeant, it's great! I wanted to congratulate you."

"Thank you."

It was the end of the week: Fowler had sent his report, happily taking Mark Spencer's advice into consideration, and it also meant that the police station was aware of the RK900's deviance. The friendship, for now, of Conrad and the detective was somehow a proof of the robot's reliability. If the RK900 had been dangerous, it would have already shown signs of instability for a long time, but the files were handled correctly. All the investigations had been completed thanks to the abilities of the android, thanks to the sensitivity of Conrad.

A robot that was doing an interesting duet with a future sergeant who had already received congratulations from his colleagues.

"You deserve it. I knew you were going to trap him."

"It was by chance, actually."

"More than half of all cases are solved by chance," Lukas insisted, "thanks to luck. Everyone knows that."

There was no one around, so Lukas took a deep breath and asked:

"This close person you told me about, is it Conrad?"

A little more and Gavin would have dropped his cup.

Immediately on the defensive, he snapped:

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody! Nobody, I assure you, but since the captain told us that Conrad was deviant, everyone understood that you were friends, that you were close, and— I thought you might be _really_ close." Lukas repeated the terms he had used after being rejected, using the same half-words. "Tina and you are friends, but she wasn't aware that you were in a relationship, because you didn't want that to be known, so there was a reason—"

Gavin looked over the trainee's shoulder, but no one was behind him, and there was so much noise in the main hall that no colleague was likely to hear him. His fingers tighten on the cardboard cup, holding on it.

Looking at the dark coffee, Gavin confessed:

"Yeah, it's Conrad."

Lukas' eyes widened:

"Is it true?"

"Yes, it's true! Why would I talk bullshit?!"

Gavin was surprised by Lukas' reaction: he raised his head and saw a reassuring smile.

Lukas was touched now he understood: Gavin had rejected him, a human being, giving up the opportunity, to stay with an android, to start in a unique story. Lukas would have liked to ask him how this relationship had begun, how they dream of hope and how they take it, but the young man felt like an intruder who had no right to know.

On the contrary: it was a secret to preserve.

"I'm— well, all the words I'm thinking of probably sound better in my head, and I don't want to sound silly—"

"Yeah, and you're making me uncomfortable, so it's fine, don't say anything." A silence would not have made the situation more comfortable, so Gavin went on: "but thank you. Thank you for saying nothing, thank you not to— judge. I appreciate. And you're not half stupid to have guessed that it was Conrad, a lot of colleagues haven't got it yet."

"I accept the compliment," Lukas replied with a frank laugh.

And after a brief nod, feeling much lighter now that they had spoken, Lukas left.

For his part, instead of reading _Segregation_ again, Gavin read the message he had just received: Christophe Landru's answer.

" _Reed, I'm glad I was right about the weapon, especially if that accuracy saved your life. I'm not only a doctor for the dead! Seriously: whenever you want, Conrad and you, come pay me a visit, and if you're tired of the morgue, we can go and drink a coffee outside."_

It was an interesting proposition that Conrad would certainly accept as well.

Maybe he was anthropomorphizing the android a bit too much again, but Gavin was convinced that it would need to discuss this new situation with someone else. Moreover, he himself recognized it: it was nice to talk with Chris and Christopher as it allowed the weight of the secret to lighten up, even Tina and Fowler took part in this relief.

Suddenly, a PM700 crossed the corridor. These androids were not as discreet as before; for Gavin, they were even concrete presences. Still simple machines, they had gained the status of new intelligent species, whereas in the past, only the RK900 had this privilege.

How would Conrad behave in front of another deviant? Could androids be hostile to a relationship between a fellow and a human?

The weeks had passed and the questions remained as numerous as ever.

Gavin sent a message to the RK900:

" _Great news: Landru agrees to leave his lab coat at the morgue and go out in the light of day. This is a thing that I don't want to miss."_

It was like the announcement of an eclipse that would not happen again before sixty years, which made Conrad smile.

While studying the file of Samuel Brooks alongside Chris and Anna, the android replied to Gavin that it also wanted to attend this unique opportunity, then, it focused on the screen that the officer showed at the trainee.

"Twenty years ago, crime TV-shows thought that a little zoom could identify anyone on the tape and that the image would become clear, as if the computer was able to invent pixels— er— no offense, Conrad."

"It's all right, Officer Miller," said the android, laughing with him.

"Anyway, if the pixels still can't be invented, the images are of much better quality. Look, despite the bad weather, we can see Brooks' silhouette."

Anna clasped her hands between her knees, split between Chris' summary of the survey and RK900's deviancy: both were equally interesting, and she wanted to ask questions about two.

Wu was the first to say it: Anna Parker was not really tactful, so, with a disconcerting naturalness, she wondered:

"Was it for the mission? Or was it empathy for the victims, Conrad?"

Chris jumped in spite of himself and stared at the android: the question had the effect of a bomb, so the officer was expecting an embarrassed silence, but the RK900 answered naturally:

"Isn't it the same thing? My main mission is to protect human beings, I was designed for this aim, and my deviance is linked to this concept. So, mission or empathy, it's the same thing."

"Quite right," Anna whispered, her eyebrows raised.

Flesh beings always felt so small in front of artificial intelligence, lowered by the surprises that reserved this new form of life, sensitive enough to capture all the nuances of feelings, as contradictory as they are:

"I was designed to solve investigations, and what happens next wouldn't interest me if I weren't deviant," added the android, "so everything's very confusing: I understand your hatred for Samuel Brooks, I think I feel it too, since he has attacked my fellows and me, but I also feel curiosity. What happened to this human? He isn't only an outcast for society; he's also a pariah for androids."

"That's normal, since he's been attacking you."

"It's more than that: our programs forbid us to protect criminals."

"Really?"

Conrad confirmed with a nod.

"It's as if criminals are becoming an exclusively human affair."

"So if someone tried to kill Brooks, you wouldn't react?"

"Death penalty isn't legal in Michigan, so if Samuel Brooks' life was really in danger, my program would want me to react— but I'd be more reluctant to obey."

Of course, he would prevent the death of Samuel Brooks, but he would do it only to protect a colleague crazy enough to fuck his career in the air.

Despite the coldness of this answer, Chris allowed himself to laugh:

"Great, Gavin hasn't completely rubbed off on you: he'd have said he wouldn't even react."

"Quite right!"

Conrad smiled, not wishing to expand on the subject.

Samuel Brooks was the first mass killer the android could interrogate, and it had hoped for answers, enough to check its theories. But the more Conrad spoke with the culprit, the more it could feel the effect of poison in the culprit's words.

The android had the feeling of having been bitten by the worst of snakes by wanting to discover a truth about deviancy, and the venom left it more confused than ever.

* * *

The next day, the policemen greeted with joy the news of the immediate trial of their killer. No investigation was necessary: Brooks spoke without shame or remorse, which advanced his judgment and forced his lawyer to prepare a case without much conviction.

"We can at least grant him that," Gavin growled, "even if lies would have been a good excuse to hit him."

"Again?"

"Of course, again!"

Samuel Brooks, too, was delighted to leave the police station: he needed an audience, and a mass of journalists would surround him during the trial, making his words public. The killer took full responsibility for his actions and was already thinking about a sociologist's speech, a philosopher's one, to denounce the debility of humans who had become assisted. He would say that the weapon was not the trocar, but internet, this tool that gave him access to anatomical knowledge, which gave him the opportunity to buy everything he needed for his disguise, to know the weak points of a humanity that believed itself at its apogee. Since he could no longer use the pick, the words will be his new weapon.

Some journalists will laugh at his airs, of course, some will even describe him as contemptible, but if his ideas were relayed, he would still scare. And that was all he wanted. After all, he had baffled the famous RK900, and he took great pride in this feat, even boasting about it.

And that did not please Gavin.

The detective knew that in jail, Samuel Brooks would receive fan letters, marriage proposals, and he was trying to reassure Conrad, ironically endorsing the killer's thoughts: yeah, some human were profoundly stupid, but they had to go forward.

His anger, however, had another reason this morning, and Conrad knew what it was about:

"You're upset because you had to apologize to Scott Harper, and you don't like to admit you were wrong." The android, smiling, heard him grunt. "We'll run again tonight, it'll calm you down, but don't force like yesterday; think about your arm."

The detective shrugged, but his discreet smile was a promise.

The day before, Conrad had accompanied the detective, still on bad terms with Officer Chen, and Gavin had needed to let off steam, pouring his burning anger into longer and longer runs. The gentle fatigue that followed these physical efforts calmed him for hours, making him even more tender than usual. He did not remember even falling asleep on the chest of the android, shared between the heat of the machine and the cover, lulled by this sweetness.

"I don't give a shit about Harper. I'd already forgotten it."

"Let's say that stubbornness is part of your charm."

After this case, the detective was rather happy to do mostly paperwork. He was teasing the RK900, asking if it was going to rust, but the relief was shared: a little peace was welcome after these investigations.

The android arranged digital files, while the human handled files important enough to have been printed, checking information, sorting by date, then alphabetically. Some documents were about to be open again, thanks to the new technologies.

For its part, in the much larger sorting of names and numbers, Conrad saw the name of Florent le Dantec and stopped. The detective and it did not take care of the case of the Breton, the case was handled by Alfred Wilson. The robot straightened slightly:

"Officer Wilson?"

"Yes?" Replied the wrong Wilson.

"I'm sorry, Officer Martin Wilson, I should have spelled out the name," Conrad waved to the brother, calling him again: "Officer Alfred Wilson?"

"Yeah, Conrad?"

"Can you tell us if there has been news about Florent le Dantec? Was his sentence lightened?"

"Gavin misses his French guy?"

The nearest police officers had heard and laughed, cut off by a swearing from the detective.

"Come on, Gavin, I was joking!" He turned at the android back. "This week, I learned that his sentence was lightened, yeah, he just has to do hard labor for three months. And apparently, he asked that the guy apologize to the android."

"Was that done?"

"Yeah, le Dantec saw it, and he then apologized to the guy. Once sober, he looks like a reasonable buddy, huh?"

Conrad thanked his colleague, already counting the days before Florent's next visit, probably drunk. With a quick glance at the detective's office, Conrad realized that this visitor's fate did not leave Gavin indifferent: its partner had stopped manipulating the binder, proving that he was listening.

"At least he'll be busy for three months doing something useful instead of drinking."

"At least, yes."

They were so caught up in their thoughts that they did not see Jeffrey Fowler approaching their desks. The captain knocked against the surface of the table with a folded knuckle, as he would have done on a door, to attract their attention.

"Conrad, Reed, in my office."

The tone was rather low, but the captain's passage was still noticed, so some officers had raised their heads, watching the pair get up and follow the captain to the office.

This attempt at discretion was not reassuring, and on the way Conrad and Gavin exchanged glances like two prisoners sentenced to death who are about to cross the penitentiary corridor for the last time.

On the other side of the bay window, they recognized Professor Bontu's shaved head.

When they entered, she gave them a nod.

The bottom of her pants was dry: the heels of her oxford shoes had not plunged into the puddles of snow that flooded the sidewalks. Her throat, as at their first meeting, was hidden in a scarf with purple, pink and fuchsia shades. Gavin glanced at the fingers and wrists laden with silver jewels, unable to remember whether she was wearing the same, but Conrad, comparing with samples from its memory, could certify that were other jewels, understanding that the woman enjoyed a certain wealth.

"Hello, Conrad, hello, Detective Reed."

Gavin was eager to retort ' _Sergeant_ Reed', ready to prove to her how the _simple_ Gavin Reed deserved to work with the _awesome_ RK900, but he bit his inside of the cheek.

Although, now that the CyberLife representative knew that the prototype was defective, perhaps the detective would no longer feel overwhelmed by her presence?

With a wave of his hand, Jeffrey Fowler invited his men to take their places.

If Conrad perceived the signs of nervousness around, it was unable to interpret them. Was it going to die in a few hours? Would it be disabled before dark? It brought its chair closer to Gavin's chair. If it wanted to take his hand, the gesture would be more discreet.

"Professor Bontu wanted to speak to me in your presence."

"We have received Captain Fowler's report," said Adanna Bontu, posing this first preamble without haste. "And I congratulate you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Fowler and Conrad had spoken at the same time, stifling the "what the—?" from Gavin.

"Congratulations." She repeated for fun, knowing full well that they had heard her the first time. She even allowed herself a smile. "We are delighted: the RK900 is definitely an improvement over the RK800."

Gavin stared at the dark face as if he were facing her in the interrogation room, trying to decipher her expression, but the professor only looked at the android.

With caution, Conrad was the first to react:

"I don't understand: I'm deviant, and we receive your congratulations?"

Adanna Bontu nodded, and finally the answer fell:

"Your deviancy was programmed, Conrad."

The RK900 froze: at its temple, it felt a burning explosion, the red of the LED having never been so painful.

As for Gavin, it was finally him who caught the android's hand. His heart was beating so fast that he felt like he did not have any, as if the muscle had been replaced by a swarm of furious bees.

Fowler, meanwhile, got angry:

"Wait: you did a fucking mess last year with your androids gone deviant, and you do it again?! By sending in the police station some kind of time bomb? You must be joking!"

He had risen: he was in shock, yes, but angry enough to stand on his legs. And if Adanna Bontu was not used to being addressed in this way, she stayed her calm:

"Conrad isn't a time bomb, Captain Fowler. The deviant androids who led their revolution came out of the CyberLife factories, it's true, but they came out a few years ago, and we had no control over them, we couldn't monitor the evolution of their program."

"How could you not have control on them?" Gavin asked, pressing his palm against Conrad's. "And what's different in Conrad's case?"

"We changed our president of CyberLife. You didn't know it? The news has made quite a bit of noise in the media: after last year's revolution, the former CEO, Cyrille Arceneaux, stayed for three years at the head of the company before resigning under pressure, leaving the place to one of his predecessors."

"Elijah Kamski." The android guessed.

"Exactly. Messrs. Arcenaux and Kamski don't have the same goal at all: the first one is more— into household business. But androids aren't just household machines; the complete failure of the RK800 has proved it perfectly. Kamski doesn't have the soul of a trader; he has the soul of a researcher."

"And what is his purpose, then?"

With a grimace, Gavin now remembered the tabloids that spoke of the great comeback of the genius, the career of the Elon Musk's spiritual son again revived— He saw without difficulty the pretentious face of the father of androids.

"Every CEO arranges the name of CyberLife as he wishes, it's one of the weak points in our business." Gavin did not understand, so Bontu turned to the android: "Conrad, your intelligence allows you to have a basis for etymology, what do you deduce in the name CyberLife?"

"Cyber comes from the Greek _kubernêtês_ which means 'rudder', but today, it's arranged, wrongly, for everything related to computers (1)," recited the robot, encouraged by the professor, "so if we sick to the true meaning, CyberLife would mean to govern life."

"But who holds the rudder?"

The RK900 did not have that answer, and it stared at Adanna Bontu with the hope she would have it.

She crossed her legs, smoothing a fold on her knee with a mechanical gesture, making her jewels clink.

"The answer is decided by the CEO who runs CyberLife. Cyrille Arceneaux wanted to be the one who held the rudder, but he has forgotten the notion of life. Kamski, more than the comfort of humanity, seeks to perfect a new form of life. He alone knows if he wants to hold the rudder or leave his hand once his goal is reached."

Kamski was not at the head of CyberLife when the RK800 was created, just as he had no power during the revolution leaded by Markus, the android created by Kamski and offered to the painter Carl Manfred, as Christopher Landru had explained to him.

"The RK200 Markus was designed by Elijah Kamski, why did he not show up at the time of the revolution?"

"Kamski was exiled at that time," the teacher explained, "Markus was a gift since some years ago and yes, he was one of the first to have a deviant program, but it was a program that had to be supervised, except that he was— free. All the androids who participated in last year's revolution were designed when Kamski was still the CEO. The newest androids, like Connor, have no deviance program. I could tell you more about it, but we would need a full afternoon."

Conrad was assimilating this information, the first of a long series. Adanna Bontu knew that he would have a lot of questions to ask her, and she was ready to hear them all, as she was ready to give it as many answers as she could.

With great sadness, Conrad turned to Gavin: the human shared its shock, not understanding what was happening. They had imagined two possible outcomes: CyberLife would have either accepted Conrad's deviancy, or they would have condemned it. Never had Gavin suspected that deviancy could be foreseen.

Between the lips of the human, the android saw his teeth, remembering one evening last month, where Gavin and it had the idea to kiss the other by surprise, a painful coincidence: they were brought together at the same time, causing their teeth to collide. The ruder Gavin was, the more pain he felt, and the pain he had felt must have been horrendous to judge by the amount of swears words. Yet, ten minutes later, they had both laughed.

Conrad also perceived the cedar fragrances mixed with the deodorant: this perfume had accompanied the android, becoming daily and reassuring, just like the Gavin's murmurs to Gnocchi, the insults he whistled in a low voice when a person on television said nonsense, how hastily he was when the pizza delivery man finally sounded at the door—

The detective inspired Conrad with an indescribable feeling, it was so whole. It loved him, Conrad was sure of it.

But its deviance had been programmed.

Without looking at Adanna Bontu, Conrad finally asks:

"Have you programmed everything? My character, my tastes, my thoughts, these're nothing but codes provided, then?"

Gavin quickly looked down.

He would have liked to get up and leave the captain's office, but Conrad's hand was clutching his own, holding him to its side. Since he had no choice, he took a deep breath, hoping he would not start crying, not here, especially not now.

In spite of himself, he heard the doubts of Tina: _and you started this relationship like that, without discovering if his emotions were real? What if it was CyberLife's crap?_

Frankly, Adanna Bontu confessed:

"Your feelings and your emotions are programmed, Conrad, it's true, but because they can't come out of nowhere: they're completely autonomous software, and what you do, how they evolve, depend only of you."

The teacher wanted to be comforting, but Conrad was disappointed. Maybe even disillusioned.

Conrad imagined itself as unique, free: a robot that had developed to become a new and independent existence. And now he was learning that the famous RK900 was just a machine. A vulgar structure of metal and plastic animated by codes, constraints that were not barriers, but fucking gigantic walls on free paths the android had dreamed.

Despite the presence of Captain Fowler and Professor Bontu, Conrad looked back at its partner:

"Gavin, do you still love me?"

It would have begged at that moment, it would have broken his hand to keep it in its own, but it felt his fingers slip out of its embrace, letting them flee the contact.

The detective stood up and, without a word, left the office, leaving the door wide open.

In the palm of the android, the temperature, the mark left by the human, faded too quickly—

Adanna Bontu left her place and put one knee in front of the android, in the same way that a mother puts herself at the height of her child:

"Conrad, you must understand that we meant no harm, nor for you, nor for Detective Reed. You're a prototype, and we wanted to see how your programs would evolve. We didn't know if you would become dangerous, and this setting was ideal for the experience." She gently brought her hand against the artificial cheek. "Go, I know you've a lot of questions to ask me, but you've to talk to the detective. You can contact me later, and as soon as you're ready, we'll work little by little, together."

Conrad did not wait for her to repeat her advice, and got up as well, rushing out of the office.

Under the astonished eyes of Fowler, who had been a silent witness to the whole exchange, the professor removed from the back of the chair her jacket, a long, thick, cloak-like one that went down to her knees when she wrapped in it.

Professional, she then handed her hand to the captain and murmured a last advice:

"I left you my personal contact details, Captain Fowler, use only these and no other, under any circumstances, you understood me?"

As if to support the order, the woman's nails stuck in the grip of the captain who finally acquiesced, knowing that she would not explain the reasons for her request.

Although overwhelmed, Conrad was touched by colleagues telling it where Gavin had gone: the android did not even need to ask, Alfred Wilson, with a worried look, showed it the main door; Ben Collins and Lukas Karlsson gave it a sorry smile; even Tina Chen, near the exit, was about to ask how it was doing.

The automatic doors opened with a muffled breath. The LED, still burning at its temple, brought a painful contrast with the cold outside. The snow was not magic; it was dirty and of an unhappy color. The sky, almost white, had become eternal in its winter, and the android was sensitive to this desolate expanse.

It was going to live; it was allowed to live.

And it felt only a great sadness.

Conrad did not bother to analyze the footprints on the floor: with that weather, Gavin had certainly taken his car. The robot went out shortly after him, so maybe it could catch up with the detective?

To take no chances, the android began to run, running down the alley that led to the parking, looking for the vehicle. It had never sought information so quickly, for the first time victim of piercing anxiety.

When it recognized the black roof of the car, Conrad was reassured: it was still parked in the same place and the engine was not awake. The android hurried to reach the door and was surprised to find it open. With respectful silence, the robot slipped into the car and settled in its usual place.

Gavin had his hands crossed on the steering wheel. His back was curled up, his forehead was pressed against this strange prayer and his jeans were wet with tears. The heating was not even lit; his shoulders shook as well because of the emotion, as the cold.

"Gavin, I'm sorry."

Conrad got no answer.

In front of it, the flakes accumulated on the windshield, drowning them in a shadow of an icy tint. This weather cut them off from the outside world, and if the moment had been happier, this heap of snow would have looked more like an intimate blanket to hide them, to rock them.

Now, it was the curtain that marked the end of a world.

Under the pain, the machine's biocomponents contracted. Was it what humans felt when they had ulcers? Without lungs, Conrad would have liked to feel the effects of asphyxiation as it did not know how to express such pain, unlike Gavin who could cry, hit, and swear.

"Gavin—"

"All that we have lived," succeeded in articulating the man, "all these months. Was it what?"

"I don't know."

Gavin turned his head, his temple against his fingers, to stare at the android.

Conrad's expression was genuine, and it did not come only from the LED: the android seemed lost. Its gestures were uncertain: it reached for the heating, but gave up, before approaching again, split between the comfort of the human and its own desire to touch him. The machine was waiting for the order, the authorization.

"Was at bullshit?"

"No!" Victim of human mimicry, Conrad brought its fist to its heart, while the regulator did not filter any emotion. Maybe it had imagined the sensations in its chest? "I really felt all these emotions, I think like a machine and I'm limited by my functions, but everything was true. I want to believe that everything was true. Gavin, if I could stop my emotions, believe me, I'd switch them off right now, but I can't."

And in a way, the RK900 wanted to feel this sadness; the android wanted to lose control, because that was what made it authentic.

Its biocomponents aroused something close to pain, making the robot deaf to its most rigid programs.

"Your deviancy was programmed."

"It wasn't intended that I fall in love with you, I had to be the associate of Lieutenant Aubrey White, not yours." The android replied.

"Have you sent any information about us to CyberLife? When did you go alone to the tower, for example?"

"Never, Gavin, I've ever made contact with CyberLife. I didn't know their plans. It's absurd, but my job was just to work at the police station."

The detective finally straightened up, quickly searching for a tissue to wipe his face, while he leaned against his seat.

"I never lied, I never tried to hurt you," the RK900 continued, "I didn't know how my deviancy was programmed. Maybe there was a base and from that code, I was able to grow. I think Professor Adanna Bontu will answer my questions, but all of this terrifies me, Gavin, and if you're not here to support me, I'd rather not know."

When Gavin finally passed his arm over Conrad's shoulders, the android felt its blue muscles relax, its joints unlocked and it dropped against him. The artificial intelligence, the improved prototype that surpassed all its kind, clung to the human with a relief that resembled deliverance, the same that ends a long sob.

"I don't blame you, Conrad, but I was— fucking shocked."

"I know, me too."

The robot found the smell of cedar again, and this heady hymn, as precious as oxygen, celebrated its life. Conrad just wanted to be sure it was going to punctuate its days and nights again.

The surprise had anesthetized Gavin, plunging him into a sort of confused torpor, but under Conrad's embrace, he was regaining courage, promising to be by its side to discover its origins, its conception, unaware if the android was the a child of benevolent technicians, or the creature of pretentious and mortal gods.

But he would be there to find out.

* * *

In front of the mirror, Gavin was adjusting the black jacket above the navy blue shirt. On his arms were sewn three silver arrowheads, and they pointed towards the sky. He wore all the severe shades of American justice, but he had to admit it: they gave him a nice look.

There were vague echoes of whispers from the hallway, which made him smile. Colleagues were already agitating, perhaps more eager to open champagne bottle than to greet him with his uniform.

He saw the wicks that fell on his forehead, but gave up the re-styling: without a bit of nonchalance, he would no longer be Gavin Reed.

At least, he could tighten the gray tie.

It was late afternoon and the sky was totally clear. The days were longer, now, giving the impression of being able to enjoy several years in order to conquer life. In front of the window, which was warmed by the sun's rays, Gavin took a few moments to commune with himself.

Tonight, he was becoming Sergeant Reed.

Tomorrow morning, his detective plate would be dumped and a new one would be enthroned instead, proudly displaying the letters 'Sergeant Gavin Reed'.

He had risen in rank and Conrad was still alive.

The shadow of CyberLife was no longer as threatening as before.

Almost two months had passed since the android had learned that its deviancy was scheduled, and it had needed good two weeks to recover. Gavin and it had discussed, they had discussed with Chris, with Tina too, who was reconciled with her friend, sparing him the chorus of 'I've told you', preferring the one of 'I'm sorry', but it was certainly the meeting with Landru that had appeased the two partners.

After getting rid of his serious look, the doctor had suddenly hit his hands, holding an idea he was delighted to had:

"After all, are the codes of androids not the same as the DNA of human beings? Well, my comparison is perhaps crude, but DNA is a code sequence that allows development, reproduction—Well, in the case of androids, reproduction is impossible, but development? Function? The human being can't exist without DNA, the android can't exist without computer code. There's the same basis. Whether your deviancy was programmed or was a virus, it's nothing more than a base."

Gavin had then let the android and the doctor discuss science, lost by a vocabulary that mixed terms like thymidine, protist and ribosome— The most important thing was the recovery of the RK900, because even if it still bore this bitter disappointment, it began to accept this reality.

Someone knocked on the door and Gavin allowed the visitor to enter.

"Are you ready?"

Conrad had just closed the door and when it saw the uniform, it had the short wish that Gavin asked for a few minutes.

"How do I look?"

The android just turned around the new sergeant to better appreciate what was in front of it.

"So?" Gavin was impatient, but he understood when Conrad ran its hands down his back, before pressing them on his butt. "Oh, have you a kink for authority, Terminator?"

"I might have."

But there were less than five minutes before the ceremony, so Conrad instead tried to estimate the number of hours before returning home.

"You can drink, Sergeant Reed, but not enough to make you sleep when we get home."

"It has been only five months—"

"Sorry?"

"It has been only five months since we've been together, and you're already behaving like an old embittered wife."

"I just want to celebrate the event in a different way tonight."

And to support its words, Conrad tilted Gavin's head back and kissed him, looking for the smell of cedar like someone who wants to get lost in a majestic forest.

The android had not contacted Professor Bontu again, and Gavin would not do it for his partner: he would wait until Conrad had gathered enough courage, and at that moment, he would be present, accompanying it to the CyberLife tower to talk to this woman.

Conrad had begun to build an identity, and even if it was no longer getting along with its past, ignoring who it was would not help the android move forward. Landru had advised it to see its life as it should be: a succession of steps, sequences to isolate and separate its past with CyberLife and its future in the police station, alongside Gavin.

And artificial intelligences were good at sorting information.

"Come on, I think people are getting impatient," Gavin said, checking the time on his cell, "and I want to make you languish."

* * *

Even though Lukas, Anna and Wu had long finished the internship, they had promised to come when their colleague changed their rank. The experience had been rewarding, and they had made the decision to continue in this job, the most motivated was perhaps Anna who had already made contact with specialists in the fight against drugs.

In the briefing room, Wu was chatting with Chris, taking the opportunity to give him news of Mickael: the young man was recovering with difficulty the shock of the subway attack, but Vanessa was watching over him, helping him find a new way.

"Not easy with the unemployment rate," Wu lamented, "but it's up to our generation to find a way to find the right balance between androids and us."

"And it'll be easier when androids can finally have their own social status."

Officer Miller was referring to the laws that Spencer had been able to prioritize, but to welcome a new hope alive, in addition created by the man, upset all the worlds, as well as scientific, political, legal, artistic— The second half of the twenty-first century was uncertain, and this dark future divided optimists and pessimists, putting patience to the test.

Caught in their discussion, Chris and Wu finally sat next to each other, ignoring the hubbub that resounded around.

"Do you think there'll be another revolution?"

"I don't know. Conrad is the only deviant android of the police station and the only one I know, if he was with other androids, maybe— If another revolt is preparing, I hope that the androids will be like Conrad, and that they'll accept help from humans."

"I noticed that Conrad was for cohabitation, yes, which is reassuring—"

Wu, like many, feared a machine uprising motivated by hatred against humans. After the failure of the Markus' revolution, he was afraid that the remaining deviants would become violent when they finally hid away— Now that the deviance of the RK900 had been revealed, would its fellows come out of the shadows?

The duo that Conrad and Gavin formed, at least, proved that harmony could exist.

And it was all together that the sergeant and the RK900 arrived in the briefing room, set up for a small reception.

The applause exploded, accompanied by cheers. All the colleagues were well dressed, but none was truly wise: this ceremony was mostly the occasion to congratulate a colleague, to have some rest, to laugh. With their day-to-day lives, the Detroit police needed it.

Beside Collins, Tina shouted:

"You're damn sexy, Reed!"

Gavin laughed with them: attracting attention did not usually bother him, but a full police station was still something—

"I know I'm sexy, and I accept all the glasses you want to pay me!"

"You cheapskate!"

There was no real speech: Gavin took the opportunity to thank the captain, his colleagues, even addressing to the PC200s and PM700s for their services, as these androids, although still unaware, had been invited into the room with the whole group.

Sergeant Reed insisted on the fact that everyone was kind to Conrad, not mentioning the difficult beginning when its deviancy was revealed, and he thanked them for this.

"— Because if I'm still alive, it's thanks to him. And thanks to the old undertaker at the back of the room, trying to hide!"

The faces turned to Landru, who blushed with all the applause. He was almost cursing the fact he was so tall, because his size prevented him from hiding behind a neighbor.

Some secrets persisted, like the true relationship between the RK900 and the sergeant, and the innuendos in his speech could only be understood by a few confidants. Conrad did not have to decipher the words: they had already confessed so much, repeating their promises since Adanna Bontu's visit.

But the android was moved, feeling so important, recovering its value.

* * *

The elevator was climbing slowly, almost rocking, unless it was the effect of the champagne. Gavin pulled off his cap and placed it on Conrad's head, feeling adored by the gaze of the android. The metal eyes were not cold when they passed from one button to another, followed the curve of the shoulders.

"What are you thinking of, you lustful machine?"

"Do you really want me to say, or do you prefer to wait until we get back to the apartment?"

Gavin gave it a blow with his hip, already impatient.

"I said no to the fourth glass, only for you, so I hope it's worth it."

The doors of the elevator slid. The building seemed empty and the silence gave Gavin the wish to laugh. Ok, his empty stomach made him vulnerable to alcohol, but it was not any drunkenness: it was also euphoria.

When they reached the door, almost in each other's arms, they noticed an envelope taped on the door. It was a square format, with a beautiful midnight blue hue. In addition to the color, the texture of the paper was soft, as velvety.

The paper mailers were reserved only for important, really important events, so the android thought that a relative of the sergeant was getting married, but why the card was taped instead of being in the mailbox with a stamp in due form?

Someone had moved here.

Gavin returned the blank envelope and opened it, then taking out the card that wished a happy birthday.

"What the fuck?"

If Conrad had been a believer, it would have prayed for a mistake. The color of the envelope was no longer so attractive and it inspired the android, on the contrary, a sense of drowning now.

The sergeant opened the card and let the RK900 read the message at the same time, easily deciphering the elegant letters:

" _Dear Conrad,_

 _I wish you an excellent first birthday._

 _Adanna Bontu."_

The date of the day, March 5th, was noted in one of the corners.

The android LED went red, while Gavin froze.

Neither of them knew how to interpret this message: real sympathy or provocation? Did she press the android to come to the tower, or did she really want to celebrate the event? Gavin would have ripped this card, but it belonged to Conrad, so he handed it the letter, letting the RK900 make the choice.

Conrad analyzed the tight curves of writing, interpreting a desire to apply.

Once in the apartment, Gavin dropped to the couch:

"Give me a few minutes to forget my mother-in-law, ok?"

"It sucks, doesn't it? To have a partner with such a weird family."

"As long as they don't oblige us to invite them every Sunday, I can handle."

Conrad slipped into the kitchen to make some coffee, knowing Gavin's weaknesses, and a hot cup would do him good. Gnocchi rubbed his thick coat against its legs. The android could wash its uniform regularly, the cat scattered his hair on the dark clothes, marking the android with innocent purring.

The RK900 was thinking of the card, but the dates did not match: if it had been put into service on March 5, 2039, how was it that it had no memory prior to September 6, 2039? Conrad promised to contact Adanna Bontu in the week.

Returning to the living room, the android heard the sounds of the television on, quickly recognizing Mark Spencer's voice.

Was the politician coming out of a regular speech or was he announcing good news?

Conrad worried when it saw Gavin's disappointed look. The sergeant did not even see the cup of coffee.

"— We cannot grant social status to dangerous machines: they're creatures that have no other laws than those of humans, they're objects, robots that must remain under the property of their creators—"

The information that the RK900 dealt with was contradictory: it was Mark Spencer, it was his voice, but his speech became virulent and it carried a fierce hatred against androids, sowing doubt.

In anger, Gavin kicked the coffee table, calling Spencer a bastard, a fucking bipolar, a moron.

"But why would he—"

"I don't know, Conrad, I don't know a shit about it, but he has better watch out. He won't take you the right to be someone, I swear he won't."


End file.
